If  Stolen,   JHTeep    It 


Hetu.rn  It 

^9f^^*^y^9^y^t^ 


. 


'• 


WHO  G-OES  THERE? 


OE, 


MEN   AND    E-VENTS. 


BY 

"SENTINEL." 


«  $frfo  is  %  statelg  column  broke, 
®Ije  beacon  lig^t  is  quenc^eb  in  smoke  j 
@%  trumpet's  silber  boi«  is  still; 
®^e  foarber  silent  on  tfje  ^ill." 

—  Scon. 


^ 


YORK 


M  DCCC  LX  VL 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1866,  by 

WILLIAM  H.  BOGART, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


THIS    VOLUME 

$s  ipebitsteb  10 

FREDERICK    G.   FOSTER, 

Of  the  City  of  New  York, 

IN 
UNFADING   MEMORIES    OF    KINDNESS. 


PREFACE. 


THIS  volume  is  the  record  of  personal  recollections, 
or  of  reminiscence,  related  to  me  by  those  who  had 
themselves  known  or  seen  or  had  enjoyed  extraordi- 
nary opportunity  of  information  of  the  persons  delin- 
eated. As  far  as  possible,  that  only  has  been  related 
which  is  not  elsewhere  told. 

In  its  preparation,  I  have  been  most  conscious  into 
what  a  great  division  of  intellectual  labor  it  was  just 
entering,  and  how  many  gentlemen  there  are  whose 
range  of  sight  and  hearing  of  the  world's  worthies 
had  been  so  extensive,  as  that  they  positively  owed 
their  fellow-men  the  duty  of  perpetuating  their  de- 
lightful and  copious  recollections. 

I  have  avoided  the  time  immediately  past,  because 
the  vision  of  character  is  gentlest  through  the  mist  of 


i 

VIII  PREFACE. 

time;  and,  except  in -a  very  few  brief  words,  have 
confined  the  action  of  the  volume  alone  to  those  whose 
record  death  had  sealed.  There  are  illustrious  men 
living  in  our  midst  to  whom  abler  narrators  will  bring 
the  offering  of  history. 

WILLIAM  H.  BOGART. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

I.  WASHINGTON— LAFAYETTE, 11 

II.  FROM  HAMILTON  TO  E.  C.  GENET,          .        .        .  53 

III.  FROM  ELEAZER  WILLIAMS  TO  H.  R.  STOKRS,    .        .  98 

IV.  FROM  ERASTUS  ROOT  TO  JOHN  RANDOLPH,     .        .  151 
V.  FROM  JOSIAH  QUINCY  TO  THOMAS  MOORE,        .        .  181 

VI.  EDWARD  EVERETT,     . 217 

VII.  FROM  DANIEL  WEBSTER  TO  ZACHARY  TAYLOR,       .  258 


WHO  GOES  THERE? 


CHAPTER    I. 

WASHINGTON LAFAYETTE. 

HERE  is,  of  course,  in  these  pages  no 
design  of  writing  any  personal  memoirs. 
My  life  has  been  but  one  of  the  millions, 
without  place,  or  influence,  or  power, 
who  form  part  of  the  world's  great  census. 
It  is  in  the  position  of  an  observer  of  other 
men,  and  of  the  events  of  my  times,  that 
this  narrative  is  penned ;  and  if,  in  the  necessity 
of  the  relation,  I  am  compelled  to  allude  to  what 
I  have  myself  seen  or  known,  it  is  only  as  of  the 
use  of  words  which  could  not  be  avoided.  I  have 
chosen  the  title  of  this  book  as  corresponding  with 
the  signature  which,  for  a  long  series  of  years  of 
journalism,  I  used.  SENTINEL  was  accidentally 
my  nom  de  plume,  and,  as  once  adopted,  it  was 
always  retained,  and  there  are  many  memories  of 
very  kind  friends  associated  with  it.  What  is  to 

(11) 


12  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

be  written  will  not  always  be  of  individuals  known 
to  me.  In  many  instances  I  have  studied  to 
know  by  the  living  witnesses  what  was  by  them 
known  of  great  men  in  whose  cycle  they  had 
lived,  and  of  whose  language  or  actions  they 
could  relate  that  which  was  interesting ;  and  of 
the  very  great  of  this  earth,  who  as  certainly  are  the 
very  few,  nearly  all  detail  is  interesting.  That  was 
a  truth  long  since  enunciated  by  Voltaire,  and  as 
keenly  restated  by  our  own,  almost  greatest,  phi- 
losopher-statesman, John  Quincy  Adams.  It  is 
not  a  word  of  sentimentalism  or  affectation  when 
the  French  savans  desired  to  know  what  were  the 
trivial  daily  habits  of  the  Isaac  Newton  whose 
grandeur  of  thought  they  appreciated.  We  may, 
by  the  minute  touches  of  the  picture,  declare  the 
hand  of  the  master.  Excepting  Lafayette,  all  the 
great  names  of  the  Revolution  were  in  the  roll  of 
death  before  I  felt  interest  in  history  ;  or,  if  others 
lived,  they  were  in  the  seclusion  of  their  own 
distant  homes.  Yet  those  who  remembered  them 
in  their  old  age,  were,  although  mature  men  or 
women  themselves,  active  in  our  circle ;  and  it 
was  to  me  a  pursuit,  of  which  I  thought  I  saw  the 
true  and  great  value,  to  hear  their  delineation  of 
the  look,  or  word,  or  way  of  the  illustrious, 
especially  as  they  always  observed  them  as  illus- 
trious men,  and  in  more  or  less  consciousness  that 


WHO    GOES    THERE f  13 

what    they   saw    or    heard   from    them   was    of 
value. 

I  have  assumed  incredulity  as  the  best  prepara- 
tion for  truth  in  all  these  conferences  with  tradi- 
tion, because  I  knew  that  as  men  were  in  reality 
of  high  distinction,  and  as  the  time  between  the 
incident  narrated  of  them  and  that  at  which  we 
hear  it  is  long,  so  does  the  imagination  add,  or  the 
memory  lose,  of  precision.  The  past  had  no  press, 
to  see  even  the  most  minute  occurrence  and 
make  record  of  the  progress  of  whatever  fixes  for 
the  hour  the  public  gaze.  Hence  it  is,  that  all  before 
the  era  of  the  modern  development  of  journalism 
was  left  to  the  precarious  accuracy  or  industry  of 
unorganized  labor,  and  the  history  of  kings  is  about 
as  likely  to  be  truthful  when  Scott's  romance 
relates  it,  as  it  is  in  colored  annals  of  those  who 
wrote  to  make  a  hero,  not  to  record  what  the  mon- 
arch had  really  said  or  done.  In  our  day,  Macau- 
lay  and  Motley  have  insisted  upon  truth  first,  and 
hence,  touched  by  their  serious  hand  of  verity, 
certain  names  of  men  have  gone  into  the  first 
rank  of  ability  and  worth  in  public  service.  I 
recollect  hearing  Fennimore  Cooper  lament  over 
the  utter  unreliability  of  evidence,  as  applied  even 
to  occurrences  where  exactness  might  seem  to 
have  been  easy ;  and  said  he,  "  Now,  would  not 
you  suppose  that  when  a  newspaper  stated  that  a 


14  WHO    GOES    THERE* 

ship  had  sailed  on  a  particular  day,  that  might  be 
considered  as  true ;  yet,  here  in  relation  to  this 
ship,  she  did  not  sail  till  a  month  after  the  date 
mentioned." 

All  of  us  have  a  little  imagination,  and  perhaps 
most  of  those  who  know  the  value  of  observation 
have  it  in  large  degree ;  so  we  like,  when  we  are 
telling  of  our  glimpses  at  the  dramatic  pages  of 
the  world  and  the  world's  masters,  to  give  our 
narrative  the  glitter  and  grace  of  gilding  and 
drapery.  I  have  believed  thus  of  others,  and  pos- 
sibly it  may  be  just  that  which  my  readers  may 
say  is  foible  or  defect  in  my  own  narratives. 

There  is  a  degree  of  safety  in  speaking  of  the 
dead.  I  find  that  Dr.  Sprague  said  to  me,  when 
commencing  his  great  book,  the  Annals  of  the 
American  Pulpit,  that  he  could  biographize  no 
living  man.  He  waited  to  see  how  careers  are 
dosed.  We  are  taught  what  to  say  of  them,  and 
especially  what  not  to  say,  by  the  familiar  adage 
whose  Latin  words  have  prevented  many  a  pen 
from  writing  obituaries  in  very  black  ink.  Our 
flattery  of  those  whose  life  we  know  not  to  deserve 
it,  has  made  the  necrology  of  this  country  a  kind 
and  pleasant  fable,  and  we  only  do  not  deceive 
ourselves.  We  know  that  the  saints  and  statesmen 
we  have  delineated  do  not  so  deserve  canonization 
and  statues,  as  our  eulogies  have  claimed,  and  we 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  15 

have  something  of  contempt  for  the  popular  rule  of 
nothing  but  praise.  And  if  it  be  dangerous  in  the 
case  of  the  dead,  to  invade  thus,  how  much  more 
so  in  that  of  the  living !  What  is  said  against  men  in 
political  warfare  is  not  considered  as  a  record  of  ac- 
cusation ;  it  is  only  the  arrow  barbed  or  poisoned 
for  the  purpose  of  the  hour,  and  we  think  it  almost 
bad  taste  that  Mr.  Jefferson  bound  in  a  volume, 
for  his  library,  the  hard  things  said  of  him  —  its 
title-page  the  one  expressive  word,  Libels ;  for  we 
know  that  his  fame  is  at  this  hour  a  national  prop- 
erty and  a  national  glory.  Would  even  Mr.  Jef- 
ferson have  taken  pleasantly  a  just  analysis  of 
his  character,  shown  to  him  as  it  really  appeared 
to  impartial  delineation  ?  I  doubt  it.  He  would 
have  been  far  more  offended  at  some  error  that 
was  noted,  than  gratified  at  the  good  recorded. 
Or,  if  he  would  not  have  been  disturbed,  it  would 
only  have  been  because  he  was  Mr.  Jefferson,  a 
very  great  man.  This  risk  we  must  run  if  we 
write  of  living  men,  and  can  but  hope  that  some 
after  hour  of  life's  retrospect  may  show  them  that 
the  picture  was  not  intended  for  a  public  scandal  or 
a  caricature.  Even  the  autobiographies  of  men  do 
not  expose  the  truth  of  character.  Every  man 
keeps  within  himself  an  inner  room,  of  which  con- 
science only  keeps  the  key ;  and  either  from 
dread  or  good  taste,  that  remains  the  secret  cham- 


16  WHO    GOES    THERE f 

her  whose  history  he  commits  to  remorse  or 
repentance,  asking,  most  of  all,  the  oblivion  of  for- 
giveness. 

There  is,  in  our  country,  one  era,  the  history 
of  which  is  just  enough  blended  with  a  romantic 
thought  to  give  it  perpetual  interest.  It  is  that  of 
the  Revolution,  as  we  all  call  it,  though  General 
Washington  spoke  of  it  as  the  affair  with  Great 
Britain.  Old  manners  and  old  customs  had  not 
all  faded  out ;  the  ways  of  the  simpler-hearted 
people  of  the  past  were  in  it;  its  republicanism 
was  in  all  the  earnest  of  a  new  theory,  where  it 
was  safe  to  predict  almost  ideal  virtue,  and  yet  it 
came  with  us  respectfully  and  respectably,  after  a 
long  lineage  of  loyalty.  Our  fathers  fought 
stoutly  against  the  Royal  Family,  whom,  but  a 
very  few  years  before,  they  had  as  vigorously  de- 
fended ;  and  the  new  portraits  of  the  handsome 
Virginian  General,  and  of  the  orators  and  philoso- 
phers of  Massachusetts,  were  in  the  same  house, 
and  only  in  a  different  room,  with  those  of  William 
Pitt,  of  the  Georges  and  Charlottes  and  Sophias, 
of  Wolfe,  of  Lady  Fanny  Murray,  of  all  those 
that,  to  this  hour,  one  can  find  in  the  relics  pre- 
served in  many  a  house  in  Albany.  Something 
of  stateliness  crowned  the  hour  of  independence, 
and  we  did  not  at  once  become  square  and  sharp 
and  practical.  Recollecting  that  the  active  men 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  17 

• 

of  the  Revolution  were  those  whose  birth-date  was 
in  the  early  or  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  it  is 
not  at  all  strange  that  they  made  their  old  memo- 
ries the  tinge  of  coloring  to  all  their  new  and 
more  vivid  acting;  and  they  retained,  in  the  period 
to  which  the  memory  of  men  living  a  few  years 
since  connected  us,  something  of  the  dramatic, 
something  clothed  in  the  equipage  of  the  times 
when  colonies  considered  themselves  as  children 
of  the  British  empire,  and  not  as  its  vassals.  We 
need,  sometimes,  to  think  of  this,  to  make  real  to 
ourselves  the  great  fact  of  our  history, —  that  our 
Revolution  was  not  an  easy  choice  of  a  new 
theory  of  government,  but  the  greatest  of  sacri- 
fices, the  separation  from  all  the  home  and  heart 
associations  of  centuries. 

Of  course,  of  all  the  names  of  our  history,  and 
especially  of  the  formation  of  that  history,  the 
centre,  and  none  near  him,  is  that  of  Washington. 
It  is  quite  likely  we  do  persist  in  looking  at  him  in 
a  glorious  haze,  and  refuse  to  see  shadows  that 
existed.  Carlyle  recently  told  an  American  that 
he,  even  he,  Mr.  Thomas  Carlyle,  intended  "  to 
take  down  that  land-surveyor."  We  can  all  smile 
at  this,  as  we  can  at  any  attempt  to  make  any 
fracture  or  even  abrasion  of  our  statue.  There  he 
is,  as  pure  as  he  was  powerful,  and  calumny  dies 
before  him.  We  have  —  all  of  us  have,  differ  on 


18  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

what  else  we  may  —  a  settled  satisfaction  about 
Washington.  He  is  not  the  man  concerning 
whom  we  lie  awake  in  fear  that  some  discovered 
letter,  some  unfolded  archive,  some  sudden  wit- 
ness shall  reverse  the  judgment  of  the  age.  There 
is  no  Simanca  whose  old  manuscripts  have  re- 
served, in  faithful  keeping,  unwelcome  truths. 
Soldier  and  statesman  and  gentleman,  we  are  will- 
ing to  let  the  coldest  critic  mouse  around  Mount 
Vernon.  His  grandeur  is  of  the  things  time  and 
truth  have  agreed  shall  be  permanent. 

I  have  sought  every  opportunity  to  converse 
with  men  who  knew  General  Washington.  Of 
course  it  could  only  be  of  the  very  few  living  in 
my  day  that  it  could  be  said  that  they  had  per- 
sonally known  him,  especially  in  anything  like 
lengthened  conversation.  In  the  testimony  of  all, 
perhaps  that  which  made  deepest  impression  was 
the  dignity  of  the  man.  This  they  all  said  of  him, 
and  this  testimony  could  not  have  been  thus  uni- 
versal but  as  a  reflection  of  the  truth. 

And,  beginning  these  personal  and  derived 
reminiscences  with  this  illustrious  name,  let  it  be 
understood  that  I  relate  only  what  I  have  seen  or 
heard,  keeping  clear,  if  I  can,  of  what  is  already 
of  record,  though  aware  that,  in  some  cases,  what 
was  stated  to  me  may  have  been  previously  told  to 
others.  My  chief  regret  is,  that  in  more  instances 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  19 

I  did  not  fully  appreciate  the  value  of  the  men  I 
met, —  the  events  I  witnessed. 

It  is  not  strange  that  the  personal  appearance 
of  Washington  was  that  which  was  best  remem- 
bered ;  for  it  is  the  first  and  strongest  impression ; 
indeed,  it  is  about  all  that  the  mere  observer  had 
opportunity  to  know.  I  have  said  that  there  was 
a  universal  testimony  to  his  grandeur  of  mien  and 
carriage,  —  yet  that  must  be  modified ;  for  one  of 
the  most  distinguished  of  all  whose  conversation  re- 
specting Washington  I  heard, —  Josiah  Quincy, — 
said  he  did  not  think  him  as  majestic  as  reported, 
but  spoke  in  special  admiration  of  Gouverneur  Mor- 
ris's elegance,  —  a  remark  coming  from  him  which 
gives  additional  interest  to  that  memorandum  in 
Mr.  Morris's  diary,  which  asserts  that  he  stood  to 
Houdon  for  the  body  of  that  statue  which  is  every- 
where considered  as  the  vraisemblance  of  Wash- 
ington. Mr.  Everett  did  not  believe  this,  and 
Judge  Marshall's  declaration  of  the  entire  fidelity 
of  the  statue  strengthens  this  disbelief;  yet,  as  both 
Washington  and  Morris  were  elegant  men,  it  may  be 
near  the  verity.  John  Van  Zandt,  himself  a  quaint 
and  precise  representative  of  the  old  business-man, 
suited  to  old  ways,  to  the  easy  and  limited  life  of 
other  years,  had  very  distinct  recollection  of  see- 
ing the  General,  or,  as  he  then  was,  the  President, 
riding  in  great  state,  as  it  would  now  be  called,  — 


20  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

his  coach  with  six  horses,  himself  dressed  in  drah, 
and  the  object  of  universal  attention,  —  Mr.  Van 
Zandt,  remembering  the  very  natural  occurrence  . 
that  he  left  a  store  in  Broadway,  New  York,  where 
he  was  at  the  moment,  to  run  down  the  street  the 
better  to  see  him.  He  said  the  President  did  not 
bow  to  the  people,  but  remained  erect  and  stern. 
This  is  not  quite  in  our  idea  of  his  courtesy,  though 
his  was  not  excessive  manner,  and  it  may  well  be 
that  at  the  moment  when  Mr.  Van  Zandt  saw  him 
he  was  fatigued.  When  the  Prince  ofWales  came 
up  the  streets  of  Hamilton,  C.  W.,  while  the  crowd 
cheered  all  around  him,  he  did  not  at  the  time  ac- 
knowledge it.  I  watched  him  closely,  and  thought 
it  out  of  good  manners,  but,  afterward,  justly  re- 
flected that  he  must  be  greatly  wearied  even  in  the 
profusion  of  hospitality  ;  and  the  seeming  discourt- 
esy of  Washington  may  have  been  thus  occasioned. 
Mr.  Van  Zandt  saw  and  talked  accurately,  and 
was  not  likely  to  be  imaginative  in  his  recollec- 
tions. 

Philip  Church,  of  Alleghany,  a  high-bred  gentle- 
man of  great  culture,  graced  the  annals  of  Western 
New  York  by  his  residence  there.  In  very  early 
life,  he  was,  through  his  kindred  "to  General  Schuy- 
ler,  an  officer  under  Alexander  Hamilton  in  the 
quasi  war  with  France,  at  the  close  of  the  last  cen- 
tury, —  a  war  which  the  Federalists  called  the  Pro- 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  21 

visonal  war,  and  the  Democrats  "  the  Provision-eat- 
ing war,"  but  which  we,  removed  from  their  partisan 
disputes,  can  see  was  a  brave  testimony  to  all  the 
world,  that  young  as  was  our  nation  it  would  dare 
all  for  the  right ;  and,  better  than  that,  that  we  saw 
the  hideous,  the  Satanic  character  of  the  French 
Revolution.  He  spoke  in  glowing  language  about 
Washington,  declaring  him  the  most  dignified  and 
inspiring  man  he  ever  met,  and  related  the  strength 
of  Hamilton's  admiration  for  him,  —  that  to  him, 
Alexander  Hamilton,  one  of  the  impressive  and 
sublime  features  of  his  character  was  that  he  gov- 
erned himself  by  his  impartial  judgment  of  what 
was  right  even  against  friendship  and  prejudice. 
Hamilton  urged  upon  Mr.  Church  to  recollect  above 
all  things  in  his  intercourse  with  the  General  to  be 
punctual  ;  that  virtue  being,  if  possible,  in  excess 
with  him,  and  its  infraction  being  a  cause  of  tem- 
porary alienation  even  between  Washington  and 
his  very  right  hand,  —  Hamilton  himself. 

Dr.  John  Miller,  of  Truxton,  dined  at  the  table  of 
President  Adams  with  him,  taken  there  by  Dr. 
Rush,  of  whom  he  was  a  student.  He  was  dressed 
then  in  gray,  —  an  example  for  the  encouragement 
of  domestic  manufactures ;  and  the  impression  on 
the  memory  of  the  doctor  was  equally  correct  of 
the  stately  gentleman. 

And,  indeed,  this  characteristic  derives  additional 


22  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

proof  from  the  very  exceptions.  Mr.  Verplanck 
says  of  events,  —  not  from  personal  knowledge,  but 
from  sources  which  none  knew  better  than  himself 
how  to  appreciate,  —  that  when  Washington  visited 
the  Lakes,  in  company  with  James  Fairlie  and 
General  Knox,  he  seemed  to  them  to  lay  aside  his 
gravity  and  to  enter  into  the  abandon  of  the  mo- 
ment, even  leaning  back  in  his  seat  and  laughing, 
to  the  surprise  of  Knox  ;  and  it  will  be  remembered 
that  Knox  was  his  life-long  intimate. 

Old  Dr.  Morse,  of  Watertown,  near  Boston,  told 
me  that  he  remembered  that  in  the  procession,  at 
the  reception  of  General  Washington  at  that  city, 
they  were  kept  in  the  common  for  an  hour,  waiting 
the  settlement  of  a  question  of  precedence  between 
lawyers  and  doctors  ;  but  this  must  have  been  all 
forgotten  by  the  doctor  in  his  sense  of  the  Gener- 
al's conduct  on  the  occasion,  for  he  considered  him 
as  the  very  mirror  of  courtesy. 

It  was  long  remembered  that  when  Washington 
was  on  his  western  journey,  —  probably  on  the 
way  from  Albany  to  Schenectady,  —  his  own  rid- 
ing was  so  urgent  and  rapid,  that  the  horsemen 
with  him  could  not  keep  up  with  him. 

Albert  Gallatin  was  especially  interesting  in  his 
conversation  respecting  the  Pater  Patriae.  He 
was  a  young,  enthusiastic  foreigner,  coming  to  our 
country  with  all  the  theoretical,  book  ideas  of  a 


WHO    GOES    THERE*  23 

complete  republicanism,  and  viewing  men  and  cir- 
cumstances somewhat  sharply,  as  they  were  in  con- 
sistency with,  or  in  variation  from,  that  standard, 
by  which,  until  it  saw  with  greater  sense,  Europe 
insisted  upon  judging  the  young  republic.  Men 
read  in  classical  fiction,  dignified  and  disguised  by 
the  name  of  history,  about  what  philosophers 
dreamed  should  be  a  republic  (and  which  it  never 
was),  and  gave  to  America  all  the  benefit  or  criti- 
cism of  their  dreamings.  Mr.  Gallatin  talked 
delightfully,  with  a  clearness  of  statement  and 
exactness  of  manner,  as  if  he  knew  himself  that 
what  he  said  was  valuable.  He  met  the  General 
at  a  hut  in  the  forest,  where  a  party  of  officers  and 
surveyors  were,  under  the  direction  of  Washington, 
seeking  to  ascertain  what  was  the  most  available 
route  for  a  desired  road  across  the  mountain. 
Maps  were  produced  and  evidence  given,  the  lines 
traced,  and  the  General  heard  and  looked  on  in 
silence.  To  Mr.  Gallatin's  young  and  quick  mind, 
the  result  of  the  evidence  seemed  conclusive,  and 
he  rather  abruptly  or  inconsiderately  exclaimed, 
"  Why,  General,  there  can  be  no  difficulty  about 
it.  That  "  —  naming  a  particular  line  — "  that 
is  the  right  way  for  the  road."  Mr.  Gallatin  said 
that  the  officers  around  him  looked  at  him  in  sur- 
prise and  displeasure,  as  if  the  interruption  were  a 
rude  one.  But  the  General  only  looked  up  at  him, 


24  WHO    GOES    THERE f 

and  then,  for  about  eight  minutes  (such  was  Mr. 
Gallatin's  precision  of  relation),  continued  his  si- 
lence, and  then  said,  "  Mr.  Gallatin,  you  are  right." 
It  was  something,  at  the  risk  of  a  little  infraction 
of  the  stately  order  of  things,  to  have  heard  these 
words  from  George  Washington. 

o  o 

Either  that  interview  or  subsequent  knowledge 
of  him  gave  Mr.  Gallatin  the  impression  that  the 
first  President  was  cold  in  his  affections  beyond  the 
usual  reticence  even  of  isolated  men  ;  for  he  stated 
with  earnestness  that  he  believed  General  Wash- 
ington loved  but  one  person ;  and  that  one  was 
Lafayette. 

Mr.  Francis  Granger  said  it  was  traditional  in 
the  federal  capital  that  one  man  was  found  not 
awed  by  the  presence  of  the  great  founder  of  that 
city.  While  the  President  was  procuring  the 
ground  for  the  city  which  was  to  be  the  seat  of 
government,  he  had  but  little  difficulty  in  obtain- 
ing the  necessary  releases,  except  in  one  instance. 
Mr.  James  Byrnes  was  the  owner  of  a  lot  or  tract 
which  it  was  advisable  should  be  included  in  the 
plan.  The  general  had  various  conferences  with 
Mr.  Byrnes,  who  was  especially  obstinate,  and 
resisted-  all  the  reasoning  and  persuasions  of  the 
great  man.  Unused  to  opposition,  Washington 
turned  upon  him  and  said,  as  only  he  could  say  it, 
"  Mr.  James  Byrnes !  what  would  your  land 


WHO    GOES    THERE*  25 

have  been  worth  if  I  had  not  placed  this  city 
on  the  Potomac  ?  "  Byrnes  was  not  crushed  ; 
but,  undismayed,  coolly  turned  to  him  and  said, 
"  George  Washington,  what  would  you  have 
been  worth  if  you  had  not  married  the  widow 
Custis?" 

Mr.  Thomas  Handasyde  Perkins  talked  very 
pleasantly  about  the  General.  He  had  visited  Mount 
Vernon  as  the  companion,  and,  in  some  sense,  guar- 
dian of  George  Washington  Lafayette,  with  whom 
he  had  come  from  Paris,  to  bring  him  to  the  safety 
of  America  out  of  the  Red  Sea  of  revolutionary 
cruelty.  Washington  received  him  very  kindly, 
and  after  the  evening's  conversation,  at  an  early 
hour,  proposed  retirement,  and,  taking  up  a  flat 
candlestick,  conducted  Mr.  Perkins  to  his  room. 
"  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Perkins,  gayly,  "  I  must  be  the 
only  man  now  living,  who  was  lighted  to  bed  by 
General  Washington." 

It  impressed  me  very  strongly,  that,  in  this  con- 
versation, Mr.  Perkins  said  that  he  found  the 
streets  of  Paris,  during  this  bitterness  of  revolu- 
tionary cruelty,  when  the  Place  de  Greve  had  its 
daily  .victims,  more  quiet,  and,  he  thought,  more 
safe,  than  even  those  of  New  York. 

While  going  to  Boston,  to  attend  the  celebration 
of  the  laying  of  the  top-stone  of  Bunker  Hill 
Monument,  I  found  Harrison  Gray  Otis  at  that 


26  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

most  delicious  of  all  hotels,  "  Warriner's  " —  the  old 
Warriner's.  He  had  come  thither,  he  said,  to 
escape  the  crowd  of  the  festival.  He  talked  about 
seeing  Washington  at  Philadelphia,  while  in  at- 
tendance on  the  convention  that  framed  the  Fed- 
eral Constitution,  and  he  shared  the  general 
impression  of  the  presence  and  carriage  of  this 
superb  man  ;  and  Mr.  Otis's  testimony,  supposing 
it  to  have  been  a  correct  one,  is  valuable  ;  for 
Mr.  Otis  was  a  man  who  was  not  disposed  pre- 
eminently to  value  other  men.  What  a  brilliant, 
showy,  but  over-mannered  man  Mr.  Otis  seemed, 
as  I  saw  him  on  that  evening  !  William  Kent 
once  said  to  me  he  was  a  very  magician  in  his 
eloquence.  He  was  in  excellent  humor  this  even- 
ing, as  most  men  were  around  such  luxury  of 
entertainment  as  the  unequalled  Warriner  gave. 
Warriner  had  a  genius  for  his  station  as  a  land- 
lord, and  a  dignity  with  it.  When  the  citizens  of 
Springfield  gave  a  dinner  to  Lord  Ashburton,  the 
negotiator  of  the  boundary  treaty,  it  was  a  superb 
one  ;  and  some  days  after,  one  of  the  leading  citi- 
zens of  Springfield  (George  Bliss)  requested  the 
bill.  "  I  have  none,"  said  the  host ;  "  I  wanted 
to  show  Lord  Ashburton  what  Mrs.  Warriner 
could  do ! " 

My  readers  will  forgive   this   parenthesis.     In 
the  train  of  the  really  great  men  of  the  earth  there 


.      WHO    GOES    THERE?  27 

travels  the  variety  of  collateral  incidents  and  illus- 
trations, even  as  the  mixed  multitude  went  up 
from  Egypt  with  the  people ;  and  General  Wash- 
ington is  a  stately  subject,  which  will  bear  a  little 
side-sketching  as  a  relief.  The  General  was  not, 
by  all  men,  eulogized  as  deeply  as  the  one  great, 
universal  heart  of  the  nation  now  abides  by  him. 
44 1  am  tired,"  said  John  Adams,  in  later  life,  "  of 
hearing  the  American  Revolution  attributed  to 
one  man." 

Washington  took  no  such  honor  to  himself;  but 
all  other  names  must  find  their  places  beneath  his 
own  ;  how  far  beneath,  is  of  the  questions  that  the 
historian,  who  writes  by  all  the  light  of  years  yet 
in  advance,  will  determine.  It  is  sufficient  for  us 
to  revel,  in  our  day,  in  the  exultation  how  pure 
and  grand  a  man  was  the  central  figure  of  our 
early  history.  We  might  lose  all  else,  but  be  his- 
torically rich  in  him. 

It  has  seemed  to  me  a  little  curious  that,  visited 
as  he  was  at  Mount  Vernon,  after  his  presidency, 
by  all  varieties  of  men,  there  is  so  little  trace,  in 
books  of  travel  or  reminiscence,  of  his  conversa- 
tion. His  deeds,  not  his  words,  make  his  biography. 
Doubtless  he  was  an  exceedingly  careful  man, — • 
more  careful  in  the  expression  of  his  opinions  than 
was  Mrs.  Washington.  The  attacks  which  press 
and  party  made — yes,  made  even  on  George 


28  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

Washington  —  annoyed  her,  irritated  her  greatly. 
They  grieved  the  General ;  and  he,  I  believe, 
thought  that  if  republics  could  be  thus  ungrateful, 
it  might  be  a  forerunner  of  decay. 

Mrs.  Washington  came  in,  one  cold  morning, 
to  her  parlor.  The  General  was  absent.  His 
orders  were  to  be  economical  of  the  wood,  that  he 
might  impress  his  neighbors  with  a  sense  of  the 
value  of  its  preservation  in  the  policy  of  farming. 
The  room  was  chilled,  and  she  rung  vigorously  for 
the  servant,  who  came,  and  she  ordered  a  liberal 
supply  of  wood  for  the  fire.  The  servant  excused 
the  condition  of  the  room  in  the  orders  of  the 
General.  She,  after  a  time,  sent  again  for  wood,  and 
when  the  General  returned,  there  was  a  rousing 
blaze.  "  I  am  glad,"  said  he,  mildly,  as  he  looked 
at  the  glittering  hearth,  "  that  you  have  made  it 
so  comfortable ;  but,  my  dear,  we  must  recollect 
the  example  of  economy  we  have  to  show  to 
our  friends  around  us."  Madame,  quickly  and 
rather  tartly,  answered,  "  If  General  Washington 
wishes  to  see  how  much  his  example  is  cared  for 
by  the  people,  let  him  read  the  opposition  newspa- 
pers!" 

It  is  possible  I  may  have  prejudice  against  that 
distinguished  lady,  but  it  has  always  seemed  to  me 
that  an  analysis  of  the  circumstances  of  his  last 
sickness  will  show  that,  if  she  had  risen  when  he 


.  WHO    GOES    THERE?  29 

first  indicated  to  her  his  disturbed  breathing,  in- 
stead of  lying  comfortably  quiet  till  morning,  Dr. 
Craik  might  have  found  a  disease  more  yielding  to 
his  medicine.  Besides,  her  will  seems  to  me  to  be 
formed  on  opposite  principles  from  that  of  her  hus- 
band, and,  in  the  instance  to  which  I  refer,  seem- 
ingly in  contradiction. 

Very  carefully  the  librarian  of  the  Boston  Athe- 
nasum  preserves  in  a  side  room,  and  quite  on  upper 
shelves,  covered  by  a  grating  of  a  very  watchful 
appearance,  the  books  that  formed  a  portion  of  the 
library  of  Washington.  And  there  is  need  of  this 
care.  Melancholy  it  is  to  be  compelled  to  suspect 
that  there  might  come  up  even  these  broad  stair- 
cases, and  in  these  spacious  halls,  and  in  these  ele- 
gant apartments,  those  who  would  not  merely 
treasure  up  the  recollections  of  tlfJs  precious  col- 
lection, but,  advancing  from  the  mental  to  the 
physical,  would  carry  off  something  more  than  a 
memory  —  a  volume  or  two.  Such  outrageous 
spoliations  have  many  precedents,  and  are  not 
mythical  alarms  only. 

There  have  been  remarkable,  perhaps  illustrious, 
appropriations  of  the  rare  and  beautiful.  In  the  Cri- 
mean campaign,  the  Zouaves  declared  that  they 
"  borrowed  "  what  they  took.  Napoleon  taught  some 
rare  paintings  and  statuary  the  road  to  Paris  and 
the  Louvre.  Marshal  Soult  was  known  to  have 


30  WHO    GOES    TRERE* 

adorned  the  walls  of  his  house  by  mastering  some 
works  of  the  old  masters  ;  while  secretly  and  with 
covert  act  and  stratagem,  the  plot  to  steal  the  very 
bones  of  Whitefield,  from  his  tomb  beneath  the  New- 
buryport  pulpit,  was  almost  a  success  ;  and  even 
the  grave  at  Mount  Vernon  was  threatened.  So 
the  Athenseum  at  Boston  did  well  to  institute  guard 
orer  these  precious  books.  Caution  is  advisable 
in  relation  to  that  department  of  mankind,  always 
described  in  the  programme  of  a  patriotic  proces- 
sion as  "  citizens  and  strangers." 

Of  exceeding  interest  are  these  volumes,  and 
chiefest  those  associated  with  his  earliest  years. 
They  illustrate  the  grave,  firm,  decent,  practical 
boy,  the  coming  man.  They  show  the  forming 
purposes  of  the  wise,  calm,  steadfast,  true-hearted 
republican.  If* was  only  by  a  special  effort  that 
these  books  were  preserved  to  America.  Some 
gentlemen  in  Boston  heard  of  the  extraordinary 
fact  that  they  were  about  to  be  purchased  for  the 
British  Museum,  and  they  roused  to  this  peril  of  a 
national  disgrace. 

There  was  one  which  I  examined,  a  curious 
book,  and  which  should,  by  a  reprint,  be  in  all  our 
libraries.  Its  title  is 

"SHORT  DISCOURSES  UPON  THE  WHOLE  COM- 
MON PRAYER.  Abridged  to  inform  the  Judgment 
and  excite  the  Devotion  of  such  as  daily  use  the  same." 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  31 

It  was  published  at  the  Middle  Temple  Gate,  in 
Fleet  Street,  1712,  and  is  commended  to  the  per- 
vading loyalty,  on  both  sides  of  the  water,  of  that 
day,  by  its  dedication  to  the  most  noble  and  high- 
born Princess  Anne  of  Denmark.  It  has  for  us  a 
better  and  a  loftier  dedication.  Upon  its  cover 
leaves,  Washington  essayed  his  skill  in  chirogra- 
phy ;  and  it  is  characteristic  of  the  deference  and 
filial  respect  of  his  young  years,  that  it  is  the  name 
of  his  father  that  he  writes  there,  over  and  over. 
His  father,  Augustine,  has  himself  written  his  own 
name  in  the  title-page,  and  it  is  a  very  indifferent 
and  commonplace  writing ;  utterly  different  from 
that  neat,  strong,  elaborate  signature,  which  is  so 
appropriately  that  of  his  illustrious  child.  The 
boy  George  experimented  largely  on  his  father's 
name  ;  and  this  book  of  common  prayer  could  not 
have  gone  far  astray  as  long  as  these  leaves  re- 
mained. 

The  very  writing   the   boy  made   contained   a 
prophecy,  of  which  he  did  not  dream.     Yes 

"  He  builded  better  than  he  knew." 

In  a  bold  and  handsome  inscription,  he  has  written 
August  Washington.  It  was,  in  his  act,  the  abbre- 
viation of  his  father's  name;  but  the  voice  of  a 
world's  judgment  declares  it  the  appellation  be- 
longing to  himself. 


32  WHO    GOES    THERE f 

There  is  another  book,  which  it  is  interesting  to 
examine.  It  is  a  watchword  to  one  of  his  great 
pages  of  duty.  Its  title  is,  "  Inquiry  into  the  Art 
of  War;"  and  it  receives  its  dedication  to  a  man, 
at  whose  name,  less  than  a  hundred  years  since, 
Boston's  very  heart  called  out  to  mutiny,  —  John, 
Earl  of  Bute.  It  is  the  compilation  of  Charles 
De  Valiere.  Was  he  kindred  to  the  lovely  wo- 
man, who,  we  are  told,  did  what  so  few  of  the 
beautiful  of  the  court  of  France  ever  did,  —  re- 
traced her  steps  from  evil  to  good  ? 

Its  opening  sentence  is  a  curious  one,  and  one 
which  Washington  never  believed,  — 

"  Honor  is  a  vague  expression ." 

There  are  volumes  upon  husbandry,  which  indi- 
cate that  the  farm  at  Mount  Vernon  found  the 
brave  soldier  and  the  unsullied  statesman  prepared 
for  the  arts  of  peace,  as  well  as  for  the  conflicts  of 
camp  and  cabinet, 

In  one  of  the  pages  he  wrote  the  name  of  his 
mother  ;  and  one  of  his  own  signatures  resembles 
the  style  of  those  quaint,  complicated,  and  orna- 
mental deeds  of  conveyance,  which  form  the  curi- 
osities of  the  pen-work  of  the  past. 

We  imperfectly  estimate  the  manner  and  bear- 
ing of  Washington  by  casting  it  in  the  mould  of 
our  own  times.  Even  in  the  old-world  countries, 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  33 

there  is  no  longer  any  awful  reverence  surround- 
ing monarchy  itself;  and  as  for  the  titled,  they 
must  show  something  of  mind  or  great  opulence, 
or  they  are  in  danger  of  being  confused  with  the 
crowd.  It  has  been  my  judgment,  that  with 
General  Washington,  after  the  cloud  of  party  feel- 
ing had  begun  to  rise  and  veil  somewhat  the  enthu- 
siastic days  of  the  Revolution  and  the  thoughtful 
ones  of  the  Constitution's  creation,  the  belief  in  the 
full  efficiency  of  the  republic  measurably  waned. 
Years  after  Washington  died,  the  greatest  man  of 
his  cabinet,  Alexander  Hamilton  (it  was  in  1804, 
I  think),  expressed  to  Mr.  Quincy  the  belief  that 
the  republic  would  not  last  forty  years.  (There 
were  a  few  days  in  the  year  that  marked  that  pe- 
riod —  1844  —  when  some  of  us  thought  his  pre- 
dicting not  distant  from  the  actual  condition  of 
things.)  Washington  had  established  in  his  mind 
the  truth,  that,  to  the  mass  of  men,  the  form  in 
which  a  principle  is  cast  is  of  as  much  or  more 
weight  than  the  principle  itself.  He  knew,  as  all 
men  who  observe  the  continuous  history  of  man- 
kind know,  because  the  facts  of  a  thousand  years  of 
civilization  force  the  knowledge  on  us,  that  he  who 
rules  for  the  greatest  good  of  all  must  rule  strongly 
and  rule  at  a  distance.  He  was  little  less  annoyed 
by  the  views  of  some  who  surrounded  Mr.  Jeffer- 
son than  he  had  been  by  the  oppressive  policy  of 


34  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

Lord  North.  Just  at  that  time,  France  acted  in 
a  way  that  made  all  men  regret  to  find  that  its 
illumination  was  but  the  prelude  to  a  conflagration  ; 
that  the  sword,  which  had  been  unsheathed  with 
the  pretence  and  perhaps  the  purpose  to  free  men, 
had  chiefly  employed  itself  in  murdering  them. 

And  so  Washington  became  a  man  of  form,  of 
personal  dignity,  of  state,  not  so  much  in  its  orna- 
ments, for  above  all  that  his  soul  rose,  but  in  its 
cold,  calm  isolation. 

We  are  every  day  becoming  more  anxious  to 
know  which  of  all  portraits  and  statues  of  Wash- 
ington is  nearest  the  truth,  which  best  presents  to  us 
the  man  as  he  actually  was ;  for  this,  beyond  all 
genius  of  idealization  or  wasting  of  coloring,  is 
the  value  of  a  portraiture,  and  the  worth  of  a 
genuine  original  is  a  very  practical  affair.  Only  a 
brief  time  since,  I  found  the  intelligent  president 
of  the  New  York  Historical  Society  examining 
authorities  at  the  State  Library,  respecting  the 
verification  of  a  portrait,  whose  value,  if  estab- 
lished, was  available  at  thousands  of  dollars.  It 
will  be  interesting  to  know  Mr.  Edward  Everett's 
criticism  on  the  justly  famous  Houdon  statue. 
He  says,  in  a  letter  to  me,  "  Its  'merits  I  have 
ever  thought  very  great.  I  own  I  think  the 
fasces  out  of  proportion  to  the  rest  of  the  work, 
and,  considering  that  Washington  was  a  private 


WHO    GOES    THERE  1  35 

citizen  when  the  statue  was  modelled  (1785),  of 
doubtful  propriety.  The  person  is  stated  to  have 
been  modelled  from  life  ;  in  that  case,  Washing- 
ton must  have  considerably  increased  at  a  later 
period,  which  was  no  doubt  true.  Viewed  by 
itself,  and  without  the  head,  owing  to  the  tight 
fit  of  the  clothes,  it  does  not  give  an  idea  of  the 
traditionary  grandeur  of  Washington's  form.  In 
other  words,  precisely  the  same  objection  may  be 
made  to  it  which  is  made  to  Powers'  statue  of 
Webster." 

Perhaps  our  own  state  (New  York),  in  its  new 
capitol,  will  yet  place  that  statue  of  Washington 
which,  made  by  the  most  eminent  of  sculptors, 
shall,  avoiding  all  idealization,  and  drawing  its 
truth  from 'all  sources,  be,  in  all  respects,  the  most 
real  resemblance  that,  in  marble,  can  be  made  of 
man. 

Of  Franklin,  I  found  only  one  man,  among 
aged  citizens,  who  had  reminiscence  of  him, 
and  that  was  the  delightful  Quaker,  or  Friend, 
Isaac  T.  Hopper,  who  seemed  to  me  a  man  very 
earnest  in  the  fact  and  very  lovely  in  the  manner, 
of  doing  good.  He  recollected  to  have  seen 
Franklin  in  the  streets  of  Philadelphia,  and  to 
have  received  a  very  kind  word  of  salutation  and 
encouragement  even  in  this  passing  street  inter- 
view. The  last  time  that  he  saw  him  was  in  a 


36  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

sedan  chair,  on  his  way  to  the  state-house.  It  is 
very  singular  to  me  that  more  was  not  made,  by 
historians,  of  his  participation  in  the  great  Union 
Albany  Convention  of  1764,  especially  by  Albany 
annalists ;  but  I  do  not  recollect  of  ever  having 
heard  any  reminiscence  of  it  from  the  old  gentle- 
men of  that  city.  It  was  held,  I  think,  in  the  old 
court-house,  or  city  hall,  which  stood  at  the  south- 
east corner  of  Hudson  street  and  Broadway  (then 
Court  street,  afterward  South  Market  street)  ;  but 
of  the  grand  old  philosopher's  action,  as  a  visitor 
to  that  ancient  city,  I  can  find  no  trace.  It  is 
easy  to  suppose  that  he  enjoyed  the  hospitalities  of 
the  leading  families  and  official  people,  because  he 
was  known  already  as  a  man  of  mark ;  but  a  con- 
vention so  important,  where  such  a  man  was 
a  master-spirit,  and  where  crown  and  colony  and 
tribe  had  representation,  deserved  a  minute  chron- 
icle. 

It  is  an  incident,  I  think,  not  generally  known, 
that,  after  the  war,  Franklin  proposed  to  Washing- 
ton that  they  should  visit  Europe  together.  What 
travellers  !  To  our  eyes,  looking  through  history, 
it  would  seem  that  it  would  have  been  the  occa- 
sion for  a  series  of  ovations ;  yet  the  men  were 
very  differently  viewed  in  Europe.  To  have  se- 
cured, each,  the  highest  order  of  welcome,  the  one 
should  have  gone  to  France,  the  other  to  England. 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  37 

Wisest,  the   General   decided   that  he  could  not 
leave  his  home. 

Mr.  Jefferson's  life  lasted  so  far  into  our  own  time 
that  he  seems  close  to  us.  A  man  he  was  of  a  gran- 
deur of  intellect  which  made  him  a  master  of  his 
circle  wherever  he  went.  Mr.  Henry  S.  Randall,  his 
historian,  his  best  historian,  and  the  one  in  whose 
labors  Mr.  Jefferson's  family  have  expressed  their 
high  approbation,  told  me  that  his  researches  did 
not  confirm  the  current  idea  that  there  was  dis- 
sension between  him  and  Washington ;  and  this 
may  be  so,  yet  I  think  it  is  proved  that  he  be- 
lieved that  the  General  had  not  the  same  idea  of 
the  essential  development  of  republicanism  which 
he  possessed,  which  his  French  life  had  strength- 
ened. What  vast  suffering  to  this  country  might 
have  been  obviated,  if  Mr.  Jefferson  had  been  at 
home,  in  the  Philadelphia  constitutional  conven- 
tion, instead  of  in  his  diplomatic  duty  !  We 
think  of  him  as  a  radical.  I  suspect  he  was  a 
very  guarded  one.  He,  by  no  means,  satisfied 
Citizen  Genet.  He  had  a  manner  that  was  irre- 
sistible. Mr.  Verplanck  says,  that  when  Van 
Polanen,  the  minister  from  the  Netherlands  to 
our  government  in  the  days  of  Washington  went 
to  make  his  official  first  call —  his  presentation  —  it 
was  with  great  ceremony.  The  Secretary  of  State 
arranged  and  appointed  the  precise  hour,  and,  at 


38  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

that  exact  hour,  the  awed  Netherlander  arrived, 
and  the  folding-doors  were  opened,  and  the  General 
stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  an  embodiment  of 
potential  presence  ;  and  this  suited  Mr.  Van  Polanen 
and  he  went  away  from  the  interview  delighted. 
He  could  feel  like  bringing  the  ancient  name  of 
the  house  of  Orange  before  such  a  man. 

After  a  successful  diplomatic  service,  he  returned 
home,  probably  delighting  the  dinner-tables  of  Am- 
sterdam by  his  recitals  of  the  grandeur  of  the  great 
American.  As  he  had  behaved  well,  the  Nether- 
lands, knowing  that  great  lesson  in  the  conduct  of 
human  affairs,  when  they  were  well  served, 
after  nine  years  sent  him  again  to  this  country. 
Mr.  Jefferson  was  then  the  President.  Remem- 
bering the  former  etiquette,  Mr.  Van  Polanen  ap- 
plied to  the  Secretary  of  State,  Mr.  Madison,  as  to 
the  day  and  hour  when  Mr.  Jefferson  would  be 
pleased  to  receive  him.  "  I  think  he  will  see  you 
now,"  said  Mr.  Madison  to  the  surprised  diplo- 
mat, who  expected  a  future  interview.  Mr.  Mad- 
ison called  for  a  carriage,  and  went  immediately  up 
to  the  President's  house,  and  without  delay  or  doubt 
presented  the  minister  immediately  to  Mr.  Jeffer- 
son, who,  as  they  entered,  was  seated  near  the 
chimney-piece,  in  a  manner  especially  unstudied. 
Conversation  ensued,  and  Mr.  Jefferson's  power 
was  soon  displayed ;  for  the  Hollander,  accustomed 


WHO    GOES    THERE*  39 

and  prepossessed  as  he  was  in  form  and  ceremony 
of  court,  declared  as  he  left  him,  that  he  was  "  just 
as  much  pleased  as  when  I  saw  General  Washing- 
ton.'' 

No  ordinary  man  could  have  successfully  met 
the  ordeal  of  this  comparison.  But  this  was  in 
Mr.  Jefferson,  and  such  is  the  testimony  given  me 
by  Mr.  Hale,  the  author  of  a  History  of  the 
United  States,  who  numbered  among  the  most  for- 
tunate incidents  of  his  life  that  he  made  a  visit  to 
Monticello. 

Mr.  Jefferson  welcomed  him,  scarcely  noticing 
his  letters  of  introduction,  and  at  once  made  his 
arrangements  for  the  day,  telling  him  that  he 
claimed  an  hour  and  a  half  for  his  exercise  on 
horseback,  and  at  all  other  times  proposed  to  be  in- 
teresting to  fiis  guest.  He  conversed  fully,  freely, 
but  always  as  if  pronouncing  judgment  on  men 
and  affairs,  formed  after  mature  deliberation,  and 
not  admitting  of  contradiction  ;  an  air  and  way 
of  becoming  authority,  in  him  entirely  appropriate. 
His  powers  of  conversation  were  especially  fasci- 
nating to  young  men.  Mr.  Clay  spoke  approvingly 
of  Jefferson's  conversation,  and  slightingly  concern- 
ing Madison  in  that  line. 

Certainly  he  had  that  in  him  which  made  men 
proud  of  any  association  with  him.  A  veteran  poli- 
tician, John  Cramer,  said  to  me,  "  When  I  was 


40  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

twenty-four  years  of  age,  I  held  the  proudest  office 
I  ever  held  or  ever  expect  to  hold,  —  I  was  an 
elector  for  Thomas  Jefferson. 

Ex-President  Tyler  declared  him  to  be  the  most 
charming  talker  he  ever  knew,  —  that  he  never  dis- 
puted, except  with  philosophers,  but  yet  always 
gave  his  opinion  as  fixed  and  settled. 

Who  can  ever  forget  the  profound  sensation 
which  the  news  of  Mr.  Jefferson's  death,  occurring 
on  the  4th  of  July,  1826,  occasioned  in  the  North- 
ern States,  when  its  announcement  increased  the 
interest  and  feeling  already  produced  by  the  sooner 
received  tidings  that  on  the  same  day  of  festive 
celebration  John  Adams  had  died?  It  was  not 
that  these  distinguished  men  had  both  left  earth  on 
the  Independence  Day,  but  that  they,  above  all 
men,  had  been  most  associated  in  all"' our  history 
with  it.  As  an  event  involving  great  coincidence 
of  extraordinary  circumstance,  it  swayed  the  pub- 
lic mind  to  a  degree  which  was  absorbing.  It 
seemed  to  canonize  the  whole  affair  of  the  Revolu- 
tion, and  it  was  theme  of  voice  and  text  of  pen  for 
the  nation  ;  and  this  feeling  was  in  degree  renewed 
when  nine  years  afterward  James  Monroe  died  on 
the  same  day. 

Mr.  Monroe's  own  name  has  been  obscured  in 
the  fact  which  ought  to  have  been  considered  one 
of  the  chief  claims  to  most  honorable  distinction, 


WHO    GOES    THE  RE  1  41 

that  in  his  day  of  the  chief-magistracy,  party 
slept,  and  men  fraternized,  resting  from  the  strug- 
gles of  the  past,  and  preparing  for  the  long,  long 
contests  of  the  future.  Mr.  Monroe  was  a  great 
man  in  the  variety  of  his  public  service,  if  not  else. 
He  had  seen  every  department  of  trust  and  honor 
in  civil,  diplomatic,  and  military  life,  and  he  came 
to  the  presidency  —  an  eight  years'  presidency  — 
by  an  easy  progression.  He  seemed  to  be  lost  in  his 
old  age  in  the  crowds  of  New  York ;  all  we  heard 
was  that  Mr.  Gouverneur  was  postmaster  because 
he  was  of  Mr.  Monroe's  family,  and  this  seemed 
a  very  proper  arrangement.  The  city  realized  its 
citizenship  of  a  man  so  distinguished  most  when 
the  funeral  gun  sounded  to  express  a  nation's 
honor  over  his  grave.  And  yet  a  living  authority 
says  to  me,  "  Monroe  was  only  a  good,  top-booted 
man,  —  himself  nothing,  his  cabinet  everything." 

Of  Lafayette,  I  can  write  from  personal  recol- 
lection. That  he  was  to  come  at  all,  that  he  was 
a  living  man  to  come  again  among  us,  the  Lafay- 
ette of  the  Revolution,  seemed  to  us,  in  1824,  of 
the  strangest  ;  for  he  certainly  appeared  to  us,  who 
were  as  boys  to  see  him,  as  already  in  the  pan- 
theon of  history  ;  and  the  idea  that  we  should 
make  personal  acquaintance  with  one  of  the  great- 
'  est  of  revolutionary  name's  gave  to  the  promise  of 
his  coming  a  romantic  and  unreal  interest.  All 


42  WHO    GOES    THERE* 

that  I  saw  of  him  was  at  Albany,  where  we  were 
all,  old  and  young,  in  a  delicious  excitement  about 
it.  The  pleasantest  narrative  of  his  coming  to 
New  York,  of  his  arrival  in  this  country,  is  in  Mr. 
Cooper's  Homeward  Bound.  We  all  remembered 
the  name  of  the  Cadrnus  packet ;  and  that  ship 
thenceforward  bore  a  charmed  designation.  He 
was  to  come  to  Albany  by  the  James  Kent  steam- 
boat, —  the  best  and  largest  of  all  the  old  fleet ;  the 
one,  I  remember,  in  which  it  was  made  a  mighty 
effort  to  accomplish  the  passage  from  New  York  to 
Albany  in  twelve  hours.  He  was  due  by  the 
early  afternoon,  and  all  Albany  apd  all  Albany's 
surroundings  gathered  in  high  holiday.  It  must 
be  remembered  that  Lafayette  wras  a  very  reason- 
able foundation  for  a  vivid  romantic  feeling.  He 
had  not  come  in  the  decorous  respectability  of  the 
forsaking  of  farm  and  warehouse  to  join  the  army 
of  the  revolution,  impelled  by  the  desire  to  win 
out  a  free  government  for  one's  own  land  ;  but  he 
had  leaped  into  the  field  and  to  the  side  of  Wash- 
ington in  a  way  that  would  have  been  rather  bril- 
liant in  the  best  days  of  chivalry.  He  had  come, 
when  a  boy,  from  all  that  could  detain  a  boy  at 
home,  —  come  in  a  journey,  which,  in  this  day, 
it  would  puzzle  us  to  find  any  part  of  the  earth  so 
far  off, —  and  we  expected  that  day  to  see  that 
boy.  It  pushed  for  us,  who  took  that  view  of  the 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  43 

case,  the  clock  of  time  the  half  century  backward. 
There  was  need  of  our  enthusiasm.  It  was  wanted 
to  give  full  endowment  to  our  patience.  The 
afternoon  waned ;  and  the  Point  refused  to  show 
the  great  pipe  quadrate  of  the  Kent  darkening 
around  it. 

Mr.  Morse  and  Professor  Henry  about  that  day 
were  bright  young  men,  but  not  bright  enough  to 
read  the  horoscope  of  their  own  great  discourses. 
No  telegraph  could  relieve  us.  Not  at  a  very  dis- 
tant period  from  that,  the  same  James  Kent  did  use 
a  signal  to  relieve  another  great  coming  of  the  Al- 
bany people.  It  was  when  everybody  was  anxious 
to  know  whether  Eclipse  or  Sir  Henry,  North  or 
South,  had  won  the  great  race  ;  and  when  it  was 
agreed  that  the  Kent  should  float  a  white  flag  if 
our  northern  horse  had  triumphed,  and  the  white 
flag  was  enthusiastically  welcomed  when  it  showed 
itself.- 

But  the  crowd  that  had  gathered  to  see  the  rev- 
olution come  back  again,  —  for  so  Lafayette's 
coining  seemed  to  be,  —  though  they  were  faint, 
were  not  despairing.  Windows  were  thronged  ; 
and  all  the  long  line  of  Market  street  showed  an 
anxious  people,  to  whom  the  event  was  one  that 
fatigue  could  not  thrust  aside.  At  last,  as  the 
evening  drew  near,  we  were  relieved  by  learning 
that  he  had  arrived  at  Greenbush,  where  there 


44  WHO    GOES    THERE! 

were  very  good  reasons  that  lie  should  wait  a 
brief  season,  as  there  was  a  tent  and  a  very  pleas- 
ant company  of  Visschers  and  Van  Rensselaers 
and  Whitbecks  and  DeWitts,  neighbors  of  the 
Edmund  C.  Genet,  whose  evening  hours  of  life 
were  peacefully  passed  in  that  neighborhood,  and 
who  as  acutely  represented  the  extreme  of  the 
French  revolutionary  period,  as  did  Lafayette  its 
conservative  side.  There  was  a  legend  in  that 
tent,  —  "  The  boy  did  escape."  It  was  the  clever 
thought  of  William  H.  DeWitt  and  of  Albany 
thus  to  make  allusion  to  the  incident  when  Lord 
Cornwallis  believed  that  he  had  effectually  sur- 
rounded the  young  soldier,  and  expressed  himself 
that"  the  boy  could  not  escape  him.  And  the  old 
man  looked  pleasantly  on  this  remembrance  of  one 
of  the  perilous  passages  of  his  soldier  life. 

But  while  the  clever  words  and  abundant  cheer 
of  the  tent  at  Greenbush  kept  him  from  Albany, 
the  shadows  of  the  evening  darkened.  A  few  of 
the  people  had  gone  off  despairing,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  the  keenness  of  the  Albany  reception  was 
blunted.  But  when  he  did  cross  the  ferry,  and 
we  had  him  safe  on  the  shore  of  the  old  city  he 
remembered  so  well,  our  fathers  made  the  air  vivid 
with  their  welcome.  He  was  placed  safely  in  the 
Visscher  carriage,  with  the  venerable  Stephen 
Lush,  a  man  of  the  Revolution,  by  his  side.  I 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  45 

have  said,  "  the  Visscher  carriage  ; "  for  it  seems 
ludicrous  to  us  now,  in  these  days  of  all  the  opu- 
lent variety  of  equipage,  that,  as  late  as  1824,  it 
was  necessary  to  go  over  to  the  ancient  house  of 
the  Visschers  to  find  a  suitable  carriage  for  the 
nation's  guest.  Yet  it  was  so;  and  I  recollect 
well  about  the  preliminary  examination  and  polish- 
ing it  had  at  the  establishment  of  Mr.  Gould  ;  for 
it  was  an  old  vehicle,  long  put  away,  and  there 
was  need  of  new  garniture,  and  the  fishes  with 
which  it  was  flecked  needed  brightening,  and  it 
had  a  long  preparation  for  its  honors.  Up  South 
Market  street,  amidst  improvised  illumination  and 
beneath  green  arches,  and  in  the  companionship  of 
a  most  enthusiastic  crowd,  the  General  came  ;  and 
yet,  in  many  instances,  comparatively  unnoticed, 
for  his  hair  (or  wig)  was  dark,  and  the  Mr.  Lush 
by  his  side,  with  his  white  locks,  received  the  con- 
centrated gaze  ;  for  who  could  imagine  the  Revolu- 
tion coming  back  to  us  but  with  all  the  incidents 
of  venerable  age.  This  dark-haired  man  could 
not  be  Lafayette.  We  could  see  faces  but  imper- 
fectly by  the  partial  light,  and  hence  the  crowd 
cheered  that  white  head.  But  Lafayette  made  all 
the  acknowledgments  ;  for  he  never  forgot  his  part. 
I  stood  to  see  him,  just  where,  in  1860,  I  stood 
to  see  a  pageant  procession,  in  some  respects  like 
this,  of  the  entrance  of  the  Prince  of  Wales. 


46  WHO   GOES    THERE? 

The  latter  receiving  a  kindness  which  did  our  na- 
tion so  much  honor  that  it  evidenced  toward  the 
reigning  family  of  our  old  home  almost  a  revival 
of  a  period  precedent  to  that  of  the  Revolution,  — 
the  day  of  loyalty,  as  that  word  was  understood 
prior  to  1776. 

The  General  was  safely  sheltered  that  evening  in 
civic  hospitality,  and  we  all  went  home  satisfied. 
We  had  seen  Lafayette.  Henceforth  there  was  a 
touch  of  the  Revolution  about  us.  The  next  day, 
we,  that  is,  the  juveniles,  concluded  that  it  was 
our  chief  and  primary  duty  to  watch  and  record 
every  movement  of  the  illustrious  man,  and  that 
the  demands  of  education  upon  us  might  be  post- 
poned. We  builded  better  than  we  knew.  There 
was  more  real  education  in  the  incidents  of  those 
days  than  in  a  hundred  pages  of  written  his- 
tory. So,  wherever  he  moved,  did  we.  Just 
where  the  city  flagstaff  now  is,  at  the  centre 
of  the  large  space  at  the  junction  of  State 
street  and  Broadway,  was  a  pump.  It  might 
be  designated  as  the  town-pump,  and  was 
worthy  of  having  been  the  subject  of  Hawthorne's 
delightful  essay.  What  quaint  superstitions  at- 
tached themselves  to  boyish  intercourse  in  that 
day !  Is  there  yet  any  of  this  remaining,  or  has 
it  all  died,  in  our  bright  and  busy  practicalism  ? 
We  were  taught  to  believe  that  if,  by  the  side  of 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  47 

that  pump,  any  of  us  should  lie  down  and  count 
the  stars  above  us,  death  would  immediately  ensue. 
I  do  not  know  that  we  precisely  believed  this,  but 
the  experiment  was  not  made.  Perhaps  Albany 
considered  that  pump  a  choice  ornament ;  at  all 
events,  in  the  day  of  Lafayette's  visit,  it  was  made 
the  locale  of  a  bold  but  entirely  successful  hom- 
age to  our  guest.  Indeed,  it  was  quite  in  the  style 
of  some  of  the  incidents  that  graced  Queen  Eliza- 
beth's progress  at  Kenilworth. 

"  There's  a  bower  of  roses  in  Bendamere's 
stream,"  sings  Moore,  in  one  of  his  sweetest  songs. 
Not  quite  of  roses,  but  of  verdure  very  profuse  and 
deep,  was  there  a  bower  formed  and  woven  around 
this  pump,  and  it  was  indeed  a  green  spot  in  the 
stony  Sahara  of  the  city.  Upon  its  top  stood  a 
living  eagle,  the  very  bird  and  emblem  of  our 
nation, —  no  taxidermist's  effigy,  but  in  real  life. 
Certainly  it  was  a  most  successful  device,  but  its 
full  triumph  was  not  in  the  mere  look  of  the  thing. 
As  Shakspeare,  or  Sheridan,  recommends  above 
all  things,  to  the  players,  action,  so  was  this  to  be 
conducted.  As,  the  next  day,  the  General,  in  his 
progress  through  the  city,  passed  this  bower,  at 
the  very- moment  of  his  nearest  approach  to  it,  up 
rose  the  eagle,  and,  raising  his  wings,  seemed 
about  to  depart  on  the  glad  mission  of  communi- 
cating the  tidings  that  Lafayette  was  among  us. 


48  WHO   GOES    THERE1 

And  I  do  not  doubt  that  the  General  thought  it 
a  very  pretty  occurrence,  and  his  suite,  a  very 
remarkable  one,  and  to  the  crowd  that  followed 
his  carriage  a  most  curious  coincidence,  that,  at 
that  very  moment,  the  eagle  should  so  appropri- 
ately rise ;  but  for  us,  —  we  who  had,  in  some 
way  only  possible  to  boys,  the  confidence  of  the 
penetralia, —  we  knew  that,  at  that  time,  the  eagle 
could  not  help  rising,  for  he  was  most  uncomforta- 
bly pushed  thereunto  by  a  dexterous  but  unre- 
lenting man  in  the  concealment  of  the  bower. 
The  world  outside  did  not  know  it,  and  it  is  type 
of  too  many  of  the  instances  where  the  eagle  rises, 
and  the  showman  thrusts,  and  the  crowd  shout, 
and  history  makes  grave  record,  and  only  the  few 
know  what  it  was  that  really  made  the  great 
occasion. 

We,  a  great  multitude  of  men,  women,  and 
children,  accompanied  him  to  Troy,  whose  citizens 
were  profuse  in  their  hospitalities.  He  went  up  in 
a  small  packet-boat,  on  the  canal ;  and  by  the  side 
of  his  flotilla,  on  both  banks  of  the  canal,  this 
crowd  went  on,  of  course,  with  all  the  gay  and 
hearty  incidents  of  the  clever  pleasantries  of  every- 
body's contribution  to  the  general  exultation. 
Even  now  I  recollect  the  ease  with  which  the  five 
miles  were  walked ;  and  it  has  always  been  to  me 
an  explanation  of  the  long  marches  of  armies,  for 


fTHO    GOES    THERE!  4.9 

the  labor  seems  divided  among  all,  and  its  indi- 
viduality lessened.  He  was  received  at  the 
Watervliet  arsenal,  by  a  salute,  that  was  the 
most  interesting  incident  of  the  affair,  and  the 
arrangement  of  which  indicated  a  taste  for  the 
dramatic  that  is  -not  always  found  in  our  pepple. 
The  old  trophy  guns,  taken  at  Yorktown,  were 
brought  out,  and  we  all  came  to  the  arsenal,  by 
the  side  of  Lafayette,  on  the  sound  of  Yorktown's 
cannon.  This  incident  made  all  fatigue  forgot-* 
ten.  There  could  be  no  fictitious  enthusiasm 
about  this. 

When  he  left  for  New  York,  his  carriage,  closed, 
went  through  the  length  of  South  Market  street 
(Broadway),  and  the  lights  of  a  quick  and  sudden 
illumination,  flashing  from  door  and  window,  and 
ranged  along  the  roadway  in  all  the  devices  of  the 
moment,  showed  him  how  keenly  the  people  of 
Albany  grasped  every  opportunity  to  do  him 
honor.  Like  a  true-hearted  gentleman  and  man 
of  infinite  tact,  as  he  was,  as  he  always  was,  he 
insisted  on  taking  the  same  route  again  immedi- 
ately, with  his  carriage  open ;  and  the  people  ap- 
preciated this.  At  midnight,  we  saw  him  on 
board  the  little  black  steamboat  Bolivar,  at*  the 
foot  of  Lydius  street,  and  Albany  felt  its  page  of 
revolutionary  gratitude  well  and  wisely  written. 

But  I  have  thus  far  rather  delineated  his  prog- 


50  WHO    GOES    THERE  ? 

ress  than  described  the  individual.  Whether  the 
portrait  has  grown  into  my  recollections,  or  that  it 
is  as  I  think  it,  Inman's  picture  of  him,  which  is 
the  ornament  of  the  governor's  room  in  the  capi- 
tol,  it  seems  to  me  a  precise  likeness.  Observing 
hirn^  very  closely,  and  knowing  at  the  time  the 
value  of  such  minute  observation,  his  features  have 
lingered  in  memory.  He  did  not  seem  like  a  man 
of  great  presence,  but  of  great  amiability,  of  a 
gentle  and  rather  benevolent  and  fatherly  look  ;  not 
over  mannered,  but  especially  disposed  to  be  cour- 
teous to  every  one.  He  had  a  minute  recollection 
of  local  circumstances.  It  was  thought  that  he 

o 

had  greater  tact  in  self-possession  and  for  ascer- 
taining at  the  moment  by  surrounding  circum- 
stances what  he  should  remember.  This  is  of  itself 
a  very  rare  talent ;  but  he  had  more  than  this. 
He  really  remembered  incidents  which  were  almost 
trivial.  He  recalled,  in  passing  through  North 
Pearl  street,  a  curious  knocker  on  a  door.  It  was 
a  brass  lion  hanging  by  its  hind  legs.  And  in  a 
conversation  with  the  mother  of  Solomon  Van 
Reiisselaer,  —  a  brave  soldier  of  Wayne's  army  and 
of  Queenston,  —  he  recollected  what  she  had  forgot- 
ten, that,  preparing  him  for  the  rigors  of  a  winter 
march  from  Albany  to  Schenectady  !  she  had  knit 
for  him  a  pair  of  very  long  and  very  comfortable 
stockings.  While  his  tact  enabled  him  to  derive 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  51 

information  that  lie  wished  to  use,  he  had  these 
pleasant  memories  copiously.  He  seemed  to  un- 
derstand the  Americans,  —  discriminating  between 
the  practical  solidity  of  our  multitudes  and  the 
spasmodic  impulses  of  the.  French  mob,  whose  hor- 
rors he  had  witnessed.  It  is  this  that  has  made 
Lafayette  such  a  favorite  in  our  country,  and 
kept  him  from  his  proper  place  in  the  estimation  of 
European  historians. 

Annoyed  and  bored  he  must  have  been  in  the 
endless  demands  made  upon  him  by  all  varieties  of 
people ;  but  he  took  it  with  amazing  patience  and 
cleverness.  He  found,  and  his  coming  drew  out 
from  their  retirement,  the  aged  men,  —  those  of 
his  own  years,  who  like  himself  had  survived  the 
times,  and  to  all  of  whom  his  name  had  been  a 
very  watchword.  They  felt  his  coming  like  a  re- 
newal of  their  youth ;  and  he  was  in  continual  ad- 
miration at  the  growth  of  the  country  iie  had 
known  but  in  its  struggle.  So  both  parties  and 
all  parties  were  very  much  pleased ;  and  for  once 
in  our  national  life,  from  president  to  populace,  we 
all  agreed.  In  the  pillars  of  the  portico  of  the 
capitol  at  Albany  there  are  midway  some  irons 
inserted,  the  use  of  which  has  often  puzzled  the 
observer.  They  supported  a  temporary  balcony, 
which  was  thronged  as  he  came  up  the  avenue, 
and  from  which  the  atteniDt  was  made  to  drop  a 


52  WHO    GOES    THERE f 

coronal  of  flowers  on  his  head,  —  how  successfully 
I  do  not  recollect.  It  was  a  dangerous  experi- 
ment to  any  hero  who  wore  a  wig,  but  I  sup- 
pose all  that  was  thought  about.  The  best  of  all 
about  Lafayette's  visit,  was  the  healthy,  honest, 
good  heart  of  the  people,  who,  without  affectation 
or  sycophancy,  remembered  that  a  man  really 
great  by  service  to  them,  —  very  great  by  circum- 
stance,—  who  had  been  with  and  of  the  best  and 
greatest  of  human  affairs,  was  before  them,  with 
them  ;  and  they  said,  this  is  all  just  right,  and  we 
give  our  whole  heart  to  it.  I  never  heard  him 
utter  a  word,  being  only  a  spectator  from  some 
vantage  ground  of  post  or  piazza ;  but  I  recollect 
that  I  cherished  a  smile  he  bestowed  when  at 
Greenbush,  on  his  way  to  the  Eastern  States. 
The  incident  in  itself  is  trivial,  but  not  so  as  typing 
the  general  love  of  a  whole  people. 


CHAPTER    II. 

FROM    HAMILTON    TO    E.    C.    GENET. 

LEXANDER  HAMILTON'S  family 
claim  that  he  was  the  friend  and  coun- 
sellor and  adviser  of  Washington  to  an  ex- 
tent and  with  a  daily  reliance  which  the 
public  mind  is  not  yet  prepared  altogether 
to  hear.  If  it  is  so,  it  is  the  greatest  of 
praise.  Whether  it  is  so  in  such  full  extent,  is  of 
the  controversies  of  history  that  may  perhaps  be 
strangely  settled  by  the  production  of  unlocked  for 
vouchers  in  correspondence.  As  long  as  I  can 
recollect,  his  was  one  of  the  greatest  of  all  the 
names  of  which  in  the  estimate  of  the  highest  men 
in  our  history  we  oftenest  heard.  Mr.  Van  Buren 
when  first  in  England,  met  —  for  they  were  then 
living  —  many  of  the  old  men  of  the  government, 
or  who  had  had  place  in  it,  and  all  concurred  in 
considering  as  the  greatest  man  of  our  country, 
Alexander  Hamilton.  To  that  degree  of  estima- 
tion, party  feeling  did  not  allow  our  people  to  ad- 
vance ;  but  there  is,  as  I  write,  a  vague  universality 

(53) 


54  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

of  judgment  that  he  saw  and  could  have  best  pro- 
vided for,  all  the  coming  exigences  of  our  nation. 

Talleyrand  said  that  the  three  greatest  minds 
he  had  ever  known  were  those  of  Napoleon  and 
Fox  and  Hamilton.  My  associations  were  those  in 
the  sphere  of  his  powers  as  a  lawyer,  and  these 
seem  to  have  most  forcibly  impressed  those  men 
who  heard  him.  Levi  Palmer  speaks  of  his  extra- 
ordinary powers  of  satire,  so  bright  and  keen.  I 
have  before  me  some  of  his  legal  memoranda, 
made  with  the  utmost  neatness  and  precision,  and 
in  exactness  of  handwriting. 

"  PRESUMPTIONS.  —  A  grant  may  be  presumed  from 
length  of  time.  Doctrine  at  large  in  Loft's  Reports,  p.  576  to 
593.  2  Vesey  621  intimates  the  same  principle.  12  Coke. 
St.  John  v.  Dean  of  Gloucester,  original  lease  proved,  long 
possession  proved ;  mesne  assignment  shall  be  presumed." 

John  Wooaworth  said  that  Richard  Morrison, 
Abraham  Van  Vechten,  and  Chancellor  Livings- 
ton were  the  great  lawyers  of  his  memory,  but 
that  Hamilton  was  the  greatest  of  men. 

I  talked  with  a  gentleman  who  had  most  inter- 
esting and  complete  recollections  of  him  —  of 
him,  he  said,  whose  utterance  was  of  that 
sweetest  and  most  fascinating  eloquence  which  so 
seldom,  so  very  seldom,  is  poured  from  man's  lips. 
He  was  standing  close  beside  him  when  he  (Ham- 
ilton) was  about  to  begin  his  great  effort  in  the 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  55 

famous  Croswell  libel  argument,  that  celebrated 
case  of  our  judicial  record.  The  papers  of  the 
distinguished  counsel  had  become  slightly  disar- 
ranged, and  he  looked  round  for  a  pin  to  fasten 
them,  and  my  narrator  having  handed  him  one, 
the  slight  courtesy  was  immediately  acknowledged 
by  a  bow  of  accustomed  grace, —  the  gratitude  of 
the  true  gentleman  for  every  kindness,  never  for- 
gotten, although  at  the  instant  one  of  the  greatest 
arguments  of  his  life  was  to  be  uttered,  and  his 
hand  was  shaking  in  tremulous  agitation. 

That  dark  and  bloody  man,  the  Cain  of  our 
times,  who  deprived  America  of  Hamilton,  lived 
his  probation  out  so  long  among  us,  that  there  are 
living  memories  of  Aaron  Burr.  He  was  always 
to  me  a  very  remarkable  and  impressive  man.  I 
recollect  being  in  a  coach  with  him  from  Troy  to 
Albany,  while  the  eastern  section  of  the  Erie 
Canal  was  in  construction,  and  that  I  was  fasci- 
nated by  the  pleasant  manner  in  which  he  talked 
to  me  of  that  which  he  supposed  would,  as  a  boy, 
interest  me,  and  that  I  was  quite  pleased  with  my- 
self that,  when  he  asked  me  what  other  large 
canal  there  was  in  the  world,  I  could  promptly 
give  him  the  answer,  —  the  canal  of  Languedoc. 
The  impression  of  his  urbanity  of  manner  is  in- 
delible. I  often  saw  him,  for  he  lingered  about 
the  courts  at  Albany,  as  far  as  I  could  see,  very 


56  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

much  isolated,  and  with  a  sort  of  neglect,  or  defi- 
ance, of  his  fellow-men.  '  In  his  appearance  he 
was  just  like  the  portraits  of  the  French  worthies 
of  the  revolutionary  period,  and  was  quite  unlike 
the  gentlemen  of  the  time.  I  noticed  him,  while 
he  was  driving  a  gig  through  North  Pearl  Street 
in  Albany,  in  the  almost  paralyzed  stiffness  with 
which  he  sat  upright.  Nobody  insulted  him,  and 
nobody  noticed  him  intensely,  but  all  men  ob- 
served him.  He  attended  one  of  Dr.  Beck's 
chemical  lectures,  in  the  basement-room  of  the 
Albany  academy,  having  with  him  the  Misses 
Eden,  to  whom,  I  think,  he  was  a  guardian  in 
chancery,  and  who  quite  divided  our  gaze  with 
him,  for  they  wore  the  upright  collar  and  black 
silk  neckerchief  which  seemed  of  man's  costume. 
He  has  been  described  to  me,  by  one  who  was  for 
many  years  a  law  student  in  his  office,  as  a  man 
of  little  originality,  but  of  great  and  unscrupulous 
power  of  adaptation  of  the  labors  of  others  ;  of  un- 
flinching personal  courage  ;  of  no  conscience,  and 
despising  or  ridiculing  the  profession  of  it  in  other 
men  ;  of  no  liberality,  except  in  respect  to  that 
which  ministered  directly  to  self.  To  old  men,  he 
was  morose  ;  to  young  men,  bland  and  insinuating. 
Judge  Nelson  related  to  me  his  having  once  found 
him  writing  a  letter  of  condolence  to  some  lady,  on 
the  death  of  her  relative,  and  of  the  manner  in 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  57 

which,  when  using  in  it  some  appropriate  text  of 
Scripture,  he  would  laugh  at  his  own  use  of  it. 

Yet  he  must  have  been  a  good  lawyer.  Levi 
Palmer,  who  was  a  strong  federalist,  and  therefore 
not  prejudiced  toward  Burr,  declares  that  he  kept 
the  attention  of  the  audience  completely  enchained. 
I  have  heard  a  lady  speak  of  the  manner  in  which 
Burr  talked  to  her  (and  she  was  horrified)  of  the 
tactics  whicji  a  lady  ought  to  use  to  her  lover,  if 
she  wished  him  to  declare  himself;  how  he  should 
he  driven  to  it  by  her  apparent  reception  with 
favor  of  somebody  else's  addresses.  He  was,  so 
Joshua  Spencer  said,  very  interesting  in  conversa- 
tion, —  very  cautious  in  the  expression  of  opinion 
about  the  living. 

Burr  had  a  dexterous  friend  in  Matthew  L. 
Davis,  for  no  one  could  have  written  a  more  in- 
genious biography  —  making  prominent  the  kind 
and  tender  traits  which  he  displayed  in  his  cor- 
respondence with  his  bright  daughter,  Theodosia 
Alston ;  and  while  thus  showing  him  in  a  fair  light, 
not  shocking  the  reader  by  any  indiscriminate  ex- 
tenuation. It  was  his  best  defence  ;  and  yet  all  the 
biographies,  real  or  invented,  cannot  make  for 
Colonel  Burr  any  higher  place  in  history  than  that 
of  a  bad,  great  man,  unnecessarily  and  obtrusively 
bad.  It  is  well  known  that  his  was  of  the  few 
voices  in  this  country  that  denied  to  General 


58  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

"Washington  his  full  plaudit.  He  remembered  that 
when  the  mission  to  France  was  to  be  filled,  the 
General  said,  "  I  will  not  send  Colonel  Burr  ;  I 
will  send,  if  you  wish  it,  Colonel  Monroe." 

But  Aaron  Burr  was  not  a  man  for  our  people. 
His  ideas  were  of  self,  and  that  self  was  to  be 
propitiated  by  whatever,  in  power  or  in  pleasure, 
ministered  to  it.  Yet,  all  the  while,  he  had  the 
intellectual  justice  to  see  the  state  of  affairs  as  they 
were,  and  he  could  not  go  as  far  in  his  individu- 
ality as  his  will,  rather  than  his  judgment,  im- 
pelled ;  so,  I  fancy,  he  lived,  in  reality,  a  very  un- 
happy life,  and  was,  in  all  his  seeming  recklessness, 
a  man  who  was  always  warring  in  his  own  mind, 
and  this  found  unsatisfactory  outlet  in  the  sarcasms 
and  enmities  which  he  had  for  others  ;  and  yet  he 
bore  himself  bravely.  It  is  something  to  with- 
stand a  whole  people  and  the  popular  opinion  of 
thirty  years  of  obloquy. 

I  turn  to  a  pleasanter  though  briefer  notice  of  a 
man  who  was  recognized  by  us,  not  as  one  of  the 
great  and  master  men  of  the  Revolution,  but  as, 
from  his  close  association  with  them,  entitled  to  be 
regarded  as  among  the  notables  of  warriors.  In- 
deed, that  Colonel  Richard  Varick  had  been  mili- 
tary secretary  to  Washington  was  enough  to  give 
him  rank  and  respect.  He  deserved  all  this  for 
his  own  admirable  qualities,  but  his  associative  posi- 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  59 

tion  was  his  historical  value.  I  saw  what,  at  the 
time,  impressed  me  as  being  done  after  the  elegant 
way  which  we  call,  —  because  it  is  a  far-off  simile, 
and  cannot  be  closely  sifted,  —  the  manner  of  the 
old  school.  (I  heard  a  bright  voice  once  express 
the  wish  that  that  school  might  be  reopened.)  It 
was  election  day  in  the  city  of  New  York ;  and, 
attending  school  there,  I  went,  as  of  the  sights  of 
the  day,  to  the  First  Ward  poll.  It  was  the  First 
Ward  when,  as  yet,  dwellings  had  not  left  the 
lower  part  of  Broadway.  Colonel  Varick,  a  fine, 
tall  old  gentleman,  entered  the  hustings  to  give  his 
vote.  Immediately,  as  he  came  in,  the  three  in- 
spectors rose  and  remained  standing.  He,  at  the 
threshold,  took  off  his  hat  and  advanced,  and,  with 
all  the  grace  of  a  courteous  offering  and  reception, 
of  the  ballot,  he  voted.  It  was  a  pleasant  scene, 
and  might  have  reconciled  me  to  some  other  rem- 
iniscences which  have  occasionally  attached  them- 
selves to  this  department  of  action. 

Mr.  Yarick,  like  General  Gates  and  General 
Knox,  lived  comfortable,  after-revolutionary  lives. 
The  latter  was  a  citizen  of  Boston ;  and  his  portly 
form  and  his  soldier  ways  were  of  the  remarked 
and  remarkable  in  society  till  1806.  General 
Gates  was  used  by  Colonel  Burr,  when  he  wanted 
to  compose  a  ticket  for  the  House  of  Assembly, 
which,  by  its  personnel,  should  command  a  sue- 


60  WHO    GOES    THERE* 

cessful  suffrage  ;  and  he  showed  his  accuracy  of 
judgment.  The  voters  of  New  York  could  not 
resist  so  much  respectability.  Who  could  vote 
against  Horatio  Gates  and  George  Clinton  and 
Brockholst  Livingston  and  John  Broome  ?  If  a 
parenthesis  of  political  incident  may  be  produced 
here,  one  would  like  to  know  how  these  dignities 
behaved  themselves  under  Colonel  Burr's  lead, 
while  such  a  superb  intellect  as  that  of  Elisha  Wil- 
liams was  also  there. 

Before  leaving  that  period  of  our  history,  —  its 
most  interesting,  but  of  which  the  truth,  by  con- 
versational tradition,  was  only  seen  by  glimpses; 
for,  like  most  other  observers,  I  realized  the  value 
of  history  only  as  the  witnesses  were  in  the  decay 
of  advanced  age,  —  before  reluctantly  leaving 
these  shadows,  there  is  a  name,  in  relation  to  which 
I  coveted  to  know  more,  much  more  ;  for  I  am 
strengthened  by  all  examination  in  the  belfef  that 
he  was  of  the  greatest  of  men  in  that  department 
of  action  to  which  he  gave  —  indeed,  without  fig- 
ure it  may  be  said  —  all  his  soul.  I  refer  to 
George  Whitefield,  —  of  all  men,  since  the  day  of 
Paul,  the  most  earnest  and  powerful  in  the  utter- 
ance of  the  gospel.  With  him,  the  voice  of  the 
gospel  was  in  such  human  power  as  it  seldom  finds 
given  to  it.  His  likeness,  or  portrait,  is  before  me. 
A  face,  not  of  itself  of  dignity  or  of  beauty ;  but 


WHO    GOS    TEHERE1  61 

the  record  of  thousands  on  thousands  of  witnesses 
leaves  not  a  doubt  as  to  his  resistless  power.  Here 
he  is,  with  uplifted  hand,  rotund  face,  the  defect  in 
his  eye  plainly  visible,  his  name  inscribed  beneath, 
and  its  only  appendage,  his  college  degree  of  A.  B. 
Though  in  this  life  they  did  not  understand  each 
other,  and  probably  felt  the  pressure  of  circum- 
stances in  severance,  yet  of  them  both,  well  may 
Pembroke  College  be  proud  to  write  in  her  list 
such  names  as  Samuel  Johnson  and  George 
Whitefield.  I  allude  to  this  portrait,  for  it  was 
his  own  gift  to  a  clergyman  he  greatly  loved,  and 
it  is  treasured  as  a  valuable  association.  Of  course, 
it  must  have  been  to  him  an  acceptable  likeness, 
or  he  would  not  have  brought  it  to  this  country 
with  him,  or  selected  it. 

I  could  trace  abundant  tradition  of  the  uprising 
of  the  people  wherever  he  went.  '  It  was  well  re- 
membered by  some  that  they  had  been  told  of 
churches  so  crowded  that  ladders  were  put  up  on 
the  outside  that  there  might  be  auditors  at  the 
windows,  even  at  this  inconvenience ;  and  to  the 
crowds  that  awaited  him,  there  seemed  to  be  uni- 
versal testimony. 

As  he  died  as  early  as  1774,  the  living  witnesses 
of  his  career  were  very  few ;  yet  the  Reverend 
Doctor  Sprague  of  Albany,  who  had  a  delightful 
letter  from  Dr.  Sewell  of  Maine  about*  him,  went 


G2  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

with  me  to  see  an  old  lady,  Mrs.  Johnson, 
who  then  resided  on  Arhor  Hill,  in  that  city. 
She  entered  the  room,  like  an  ideal  old  person, 
leaning  upon  her  eane.  She  well  remembered 
hearing  Mr.  Whitefield.  It  was  at  Mr.  Eliot's 
church,  at  the  North  End,  Boston.  He  preached 
at  dawn,  just  at  daybreak,  for  the  convenience  of 
the  working-classes.  He  had  a  very  powerful,  a 
vast  voice,  and  it  filled  the  whole  building.  She 
said  it  sounded  like  thunder.  The  church  was 
crowded ;  and  the  discourse  interested  her  very 
much,  child  as  she  was.  It  was  a  great  event  for 
her  to  go,  and  she  was  prepared  for  it  the  night 
before.  This  recollection  survived  a  great  number 
of  years,  and  the  impression  must  have  been  very 
strong.  Mrs.  Moore  remembered,  that,  in  New 
York,  he  once  preached  in  a  ropewalk,  a  curi- 
ously shaped  place  for  a  great  crowd's  gathering. 
In  Boston,  he  preached  also  on  the  common,  and 
his  text  was  that  beautiful  wish  of  the  psalmist,  to 
possess  the  wings  of  a  dove  in  its  flight  into  rest. 
How  beautiful  must  have  been  his  utterances  on 
such  a  theme  ! 

There  is  an  almost  flippant,  or,  to  use  a  milder 
term,  a  superficial,  idea  prevalent  in  some  circles  of  m 
opinion,  that  Whitefield,  though  a  forcible  one,  was 
yet,  a  ranter,  —  extravagance  of  speech  his  char- 
acteristic, however  well  done.  A  distinguished 


WHO    GOES    THERE!  63 

man,  whose  life  was  commencing  just  as  White- 
field's  closed,  expressed  to  me  the  judgment  that 
Whitefield  so  greatly  interested  the1  people,  be- 
cause, in  America,  we  had  but  little  else  to  fill  the 
desire  for  excitement.  That  was  a  very  cold  opin- 
ion, and  I  think  I  could  trace  its  bias.  But  this 
thought  is  not  just  to  the  orator.  Bishop  White 
said  Whitefield  was  the  finest  reader  of  the  liturgy 
he  ever  heard  ;  and  the  testimony  of  his  biographer 
is,  that  he  was  a  man  of  dignity  and  of  elegance. 
Franklin,  who  labors  to  show  that  he  did  not  share 
in  his  religious  views,  gives  witness  to  his  greatness. 
It  is  time  that  his  place  in  history  was  acknowl- 
edged to  be  among  the  most  wonderful  of  men. 
He  took  the  weapons  of  this  world  and  made  them 
brilliant  in  the  armory  of  the  faith. 

Of  private  men  of  the  revolutionary  period, — 
quaint,  remarkable,  interesting  men,  —  the  material 
is  abundant ;  but  it  would  make  this  work  too  much 
a  local  chronicle  of  the  old  city  of  Albany,  were 
these  materials  to  be  used  here.  They  lingered  to 
later  days,  with  perhaps  more  of  observation  of 
the  then  time,  than  action  in  it.  There  was  an  old 
man  by  the  name  of  Vedder,  a  great  pedestrian, 
who  could  not  sufficiently  express  his  astonishment 
that  he  had  lived  to  see  Utica  —  which  to  him  was 
old  Fort  Schuyler  —  with  lamps  in  its  streets  1 
This  he  said  over  and  over  again.  There  were  the 


64  WHO  GOES  THERE? 

men  who  had  been  traders  in  the  fai  North  and 
West,  leading  the  most  adventurous  of  lives, 
treading  Indian  paths,  and  identified  with  Indian 
habits  ;  witnesses  of  the  successive  intrigues  of 
French  and  English,  of  colonial' and  state  efforts, 
to  use  temporarily  the  alliance  of  the  tribes,  reck- 
less whether  the  alliance  was  sooner  or  later  fatal 
to  the  Indian ;  for  his  destruction,  they  saw,  was 
but  a  question  .of  time.  If  I  depart  from  the  strict 
rule  of  this  book  for  one  instance  only,  to  make 
a  personal  allusion,  it  is  to  say  that  the  Indians 
gave  to  my  father  the  name  of  Fairweather.  I 
trust  it  was  for  an  unvarying  sunshine  of  dispo- 
sition. One  of  these  traders,  Wilhelmus  Ryck- 
man,  —  straight  and  tall, — used  to  stride  through 
the  streets  as  if  he  came  out  of  an  old  picture,  and 
as  if  nothing  of  to-day  attached  to  him.  I  met 
only  one  person  who  recollected  the  celebrated 
Aunt  Schuyler,  so  admirably  biographized  by  Mrs. 
Grant  of  Laggan  (the  lady,  Scott  said  was  so 
"blue"  as  to  be  " cerulean").  This  reminiscent 
was  a  charming  lady,  herself  very  aged,  who  lived 
at  the  very  house  of  the  scenes  of  that  biography, 
and  she  only  recollected  the  great  and  unwieldy 
size  of  Madame. 

There  is  a  curious  and  impressive  incident  about 
the  burial-place  of  Madame,  which  is  near  her 
house,  and  it  could  be  easily  understood  how  it 
confirms  and  illustrates  history. 


WHO    GOES    THERE*  65 

For  a  long  period  before  the  Revolution,  and 
before  its  conflicting  opinions  disturbed  society, 
the  family  of  Mrs.  Schuyler,  her  husband  and 
herself,  were  at  once  the  respected  and  the  author- 
itative centre  of  society.  In  this  phase  of  affairs, 
the  husband  died,  and  a  monument  in  the  little 
enclosure  near  the  house  is  the  record  of  his  name 
and  excellence.  But  she,  Madame,  was  in  reality 
far  the  most  important  person  of  the  two,  as  her 
recognized  rank  in  history  proves.  As  the  troubles 
of  the  epoch  rose,  her  sympathies,  perhaps  against 
her  judgment,  however  moderately  expressed,  were 
with  the  old,  and  not  the  revolutionary  way  of 
things,  and  her  death  occurred  just  as  the  crisis 
was  forming.  No  monument  is  raised  for  her. 
Her  grave  is  by  her  husband's  side,  but  it  has  no 
designation,  and  the  explanation  must  be  that  the 
popular  furore  would  have  made  it  probable  that  a 
monument  would  have  been  defaced.  The.  reason 
remained  during  the  Revolution,  and  after  those 
seven  weary  years,  new  pursuits  and  new  persons 
occupied  the  attention  of  kindred.  Mrs.  Grant's 
book  has  made  for  this  name  a  distinguished  place 
in  literature  and  in  history,  so  that  her  annals  form 
a  bright  and  interesting  chapter  in  the  record  of 
New  York,  but  there  is  her  unmarked  grave. 

There  was  an  abundance  of  interesting  and 
doubtful  reminiscence  among  those  soldiers  of  the 


66  WHO    GOES    THERE* 

Revolution  who  survived  to  great  age.  A  promi- 
nent lawyer,  who  took  active .  part  in  that  long 
series  of  ejectment  suits  which  confirmed  the  titles 
to  the  land  which  the  State  of  New  York  save  her 

O 

soldiers,  declared  that  they  required  careful  scru- 
tiny in  their  evidence,  for  meeting  before  the 
trial,  they  would  agree  as  to  what  should  be  their 
testimony !  and  this  was  not  always  a  safe  re- 
liance. 

They  retained  the  habits  of  the  camp,  and 
roused  up  into  old  soldier  ways  when  they  thus  en- 
countered each  other  ;  but  the  lawyers  of  that  day 
soon  understood  them,  and  could  at  last  define  the 
probabilities  out  of  all  the  conflict  of  evidence. 

That  centenarian  clergyman,  Dr.  Waldo,  who 
closed,  in  1864,  a  life  begun  in  1762,  told  us  of  a 
French  soldier,  one  of  our  allies,  who  with  his 
companion  \vas  passing  one  revolutionary  day  a 
house  where  a  spinning-wheel  was  in  use.  He 
listened  for  some  time  to  the  humming  monotone, 
and  then  offered  the  spinner  some  money,  saying, 
"  It  is  the  fashion  in  my  country  always  to  pay  for 
the  music,  but  this  is  very  poor  music." 

Cashier  Van  Zandt  related  to  me  that  he  was 
walking  on  the  ramparts  of  Fort  Frederick,  State 
street,  Albany,  on  the  day  of  the  battle  of  Sara- 
toga, and  heard  the  sound  of  the  cannonade.  He 
asked  a  soldier  about  it,  and  he  told  him  that  the 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  67 

sound  followed  the  course  of  the  river,  and  the 
wind  was  north-east. 

The  same  gentlemen  gave  me  a  very  intelli- 
gent and  probable  account  of  the  actual  coming 
into  Albany  of  General  Burgoyne  as  a  prisoner. 
The  popular  idea  would  seem  to  be  that  he  came 
in  surrounded  by  a  body  of  his  own  men,  fellow- 
prisoners,  with  much  of  the  pomp  and  circumstance 
of  a  martial  captivity ;  but  General  Schuyler  was 
too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  make  a  spectacle  of  a 
distinguished  soldier.  Mr.  Van  Zandt  with  some 
other  boys  was  playing  at  the  wharf  at  the  foot  of 
State  street,  —  it  was  one  of  the  few  that  Albany 
then  possessed,  —  and  word  came,  in  some  of  those 
ways  in  which  boys  hear  everything,  that  Gen- 
eral Burgoyne  was  coming  down  Market  street. 
And  so  he  ran  thither,  and  saw  a  few  gentlemen 
on  horseback,  quietly  moving  southward  on  their 
way  to  General  Schuyler's  house.  One  of  these 
was  John  Burgoyne,  and  another,  the  aide-de- 
camp of  his  conqueror. 

But  at  one  locality  in  his  progress  down  the 
street  he  was  interrupted.  It  was  sufficiently 
rude  at  the  time,  but  we  cannot  wisely  judge  in 
peace  of  the  rudeness  of  war.  General  Burgoyne 
had  made  some  large  declarations  of  his  intentions 
as  to  Albany,  which  was  the  great  prize  of  the 
upward  (Admiral  Vaughan)  movement,  and  of 


68  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

his  own  downward  progress ;  and,  among  other 
words,  had  said  he  should  have  "  elbow  room"  at 
Albany.  This  was  remembered.  At  the  corner 
of  Hudson  and  Court  (now  South  Broadway) 
streets,  lived  a  Mrs.  Stoffel  Lansing,  who,  as  the 
General  was  passing,  shouted  out  vociferously, 
"  Elbow  room,  elbowT  room  for  General  Bur- 
goyne  !  "  thereby  winning  quite  a  traditional  rep- 
utation. I  can  imagine  that  John  Burgoyne,  as 
a  man  of  sense,  must  often  have  smiled  in  his 
recollection  of  this  incident. 

He  was  a  gentleman  ;  for,  in  his  place  in  par- 
liament, he  stood  up  and  gratefully  acknowledged 
the  superb  hospitality  with  which  General  Schuy- 
ler  had  entertained  him  and  his  suite  at  his  house 
in  Albany.  So  strongly  did  the  reputation  of  this 
hospitality  abide,  that,  in  1860,  when  the  Prince 
of  Wales  was  passing  through  Albany,  Dr.  Ac- 
land,  his  physician,  declared  that  nothing  but  his 
imperative  duties,  in  attendance  on  the  Prince, 
withheld  him  from  visiting  the  mansion  where  his 
own  ancestor  had  been  so  kindly  and  liberally 
treated.  I  wish  I  had  personal  reminiscence  of 
the  distinguished  Schuyler  to  record  ;  but  strangely, 
though  living  in  the  city  of  his  residence,  I  do  not 
recollect  to  have  ever  heard  him  made  a  subject 
of  conversation  in  any  special  mention.  His 
house  I  have  examined  with  the  utmost  interest. 


WHO    GOES    THERE  1  69 

The  very  vanes  that  are  on  the  out-buildings  are 
quaint,  and  have  a  reference  to  the  incidents  of 
ruder  days. 

There  was  a  gentleman  who,  in  old  age,  is  well 
recollected  by  me,  who  had  borne,  though  not  a 
conspicuous  general,  a  national  part  in  the  Revo- 
lution, and  in  the  northern  section  of  the  state, 
had  been  of  large  service.  This  w^as  John  Tayler, 
whose  name  was  so  prominently  associated,  in  the 
political  history  of  the  state,  with  that  of  De  Witt 
Clinton,  —  the  one  as  governor,  the  other  as  lieu- 
tenant-governor. I  recollect  seeing  a  young  man 
under  the  influence  (real  or  assumed)  of  the  nitrous 
oxide  gas,  when  such  experiments  were  fashiona- 
ble, pacing  up  and  down  the  hall  of  the  academy, 
exclaiming,  "  Vox  Populi,  vox  Dei  ;  De  Witt  Clin- 
ton and  John  Tayler  I  "  I  thought,  for  his  side 
of  politics,  he  did  not  seem  much  out  of  his  way, 
if  he  was  out  of  his  head.  Mr.  Tayler' had  acted 
as  governor  when  Governor 'Tompkins  was  called 
to  the  vice-presidency  of  the  United  States. 
While  he  was  lieutenant-governor,  he,  of  course, 
presided  over  the  senate,  and  Mr.  Verplanck  in- 
forms us  that,  on  one  subject,  he  was  permitted, 
by  the  senate,  to  take  part  in  the  debate,  which  is 
not,  constitutionally,  within  the  province  of  the 
lieutenant-governor.  Whenever  there  arose  ques- 
tions concerning  the  Indians,  which,  in  various 


70  WHO    GOES    THERE ? 

ways,  of  law  or  treaty,  were  abundant,  Governor 
Tayler  would,  standing,  as  it  were,  by  the  side  of 
the  senate,  rather  than  in  it,  give  his  views, 
founded  upon  his  long  and  eventful  experience 
among  them,  and  the  senate  welcomed  it  as  the 
word  of  most  valuable  counsel.  His  life  took  the 
period  from  1742  to  1829,  and  he  had  recollections 
of  the  French  war  and  intimate  experiences  'of  the 
Re  volution.  He  was  one  of  the  party  that  found 
Miss  McCrea,  murdered  in  the  woods,  lying  dead, 
and  observed  the  tomahawk  wound  in  her  breast. 
It  will  be  remembered  that  this  was  one  of  the 
tragedies  of  the  war,  and  which  was  the  subject 
of  severe  comment  in  congress  and  in  parliament. 
He  knew  the  Indian  character  thoroughly,  and 
was,  in  that,  a  formidable  rival  to  the  Johnsons, 
who,  in  their  life  among  the  Mohawks,  presumed 
to  rule  the  Iroquois. 

The  wife  of  one  of  the  Johnsons  was  in  Albany, 
and  was  more  than  accused  of  being  a  spy  on  the 
actions  of  the  committee  of  safety.  Mr.  Tayler 
moved  that  she  be  requested  to  leave  the  city. 
"  Who  will  tell  her  ?  "  said  one  at  the  board,  hwv- 
8elf  in  league  with  her.  "  I  will,"  sajd  Mr.  Tay- 
ler, with  a  touch  of  the  old  bravery  of  that  Doug- 
lass known  as  Sir  Archibald  Bell-the-Cat.  He  did 
so.  He  told  her  she  knew  where  her  husband 
was,  and  he  did  not.  A  carriage  was  sent  for  her, 


WHO    GOES    THERE  1  71 

and  she  chose  to  go  to  Schenectady.  Johnson 
termed  this  an  affront  and  insult,  and  did  not  for- 
give it.  He  sent  men,  who  were  fed  and  lodged 
in  Mr.  Tayler's  stable,  by  his  colored  cook,  Chloe, 
who  had  been  a  slave  of  Johnson,  and  had  been 
bought  by  Mr.  Tayler,  but  who  remained  all  de- 
votion to  her  first  master,  with  a  fidelity  like 
that  of  the  clansmen  of  the  Highlands.  Mr.  Tay- 
ler then  lived  in  a  house  in  North  Market  street 
(Broadway),  near  where  was  the  line  of  defence 
stockades,  and  through  the  grounds  of  which  a 
creek  (Fox)  ran  to  the  Hudson  river.  These 
men,  concealed,  were  to  capture  Mr.  Tayler.  On 
the  night  when  the  seizure  was  to  be  made,  a 
slave  of  Major  Popham,  an  old  revolutionary 
worthy,  shut  the  bedroom  window,  and  was  rep- 
rimanded by  Mr.  Tayler.  "  Master  will  be  taken 
alive  to-night,"  said  she.  He  instantly  understood 
the  warning,  and,  going  to  the  front  window,  fired 
his  gun.  This  was  an  alarm  signal  quickly  com- 
prehended by  the  people  of  the  city.  Johnson's 
men  also  heard  it,  and  they  took  to  their  batteau 
and  moved  immediately  out  of  the  creek  to  the 
river,  and  made  their  escape.  Subsequently  it 
was  known  that  Johnson's  order  to  these  men  was 
to  take  Tayler  where  he  could  be  delivered  to  the 
Mohawk  Indians ;  a  destiny  which  indicated  about 
all  that  was  undesirable.  Indeed,  this  is  confirmed 


72  WHO    GOZS    THERE 't 

by  another  incident.  After  the  war  was  over,  he 
found,  at  a  book-stall,  the  family  Bible  of  the  John- 
son family.  He  purchased  it,  for  a  half-joe,  and 
sent  it  to  Sir  John  Johnson,  in  Canada,  saying,  in 
irony,  that  it  was  in  return  for  the  kindnesses  he 
had  shown  him  in  the  war.  Sir  John  returned 
word  that,  if  he  had  caught  him,  he  would  have 
given  him  to  the  Indians ;  which  indicated  that 
Sir  John  had  lost  his  good  manners,  with  his  other 
losses. 

When  Burgoyne's  army  was  every  hour  ex- 
pected, —  when  so  great  was  the  fear  of  its  coming 
that  some  citizens  of  Albany  left  the  city  and  went 
for  presumed  safety  to  the  hills  of  Berkshire,  —  Mr. 
Tayler  was  out  at  his  country-house,  which  was  a 
few  miles  north  of  the  city,  in  the  probable  route 
of  the  British  army,  if  it  should  come  as  conquer- 
ors. While  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tayler  were  talking 
about  the  probable  incidents  of  the  march,  they 
saw  one  of  their  woman  slaves  dragging  a  kid  to 
the  well,  and,  at  the  same  time,  wielding  a  knife. 
"  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  was  Mrs.  Tayler's  in- 
quiry. Her  answer  was,  "I  am  going  to  kill  the 
goat  and  throw  it  in  the  well,  so  as  to  poison  the 
water  for  the  British  when  they  come."  "  Not 
so,"  said  Mrs.  Tayler.  "  Come  in  here  and  help 
me  set  the  table."  "  You  are  crazy,  mistress," 
the  slave  exclaimed.  Mrs.  Tayler  told  her  to  put 


WHO    GOES    THERE f  73 

the  silver  on  the  table,  to  put  on  all  the  cold  meat 
in  the  house,  and  prepare  the  table  in  its  best. 
Mr.  Tayler  now  remonstrated  ;  but  said  Mrs. 
Tayler,  "  When  General  Burgoyne  comes  past,  he 
will  see  that  this  is  a  gentleman's  house,  and  that 
this  meal  was  prepared  for  him.  He  will  spare  the 
house  and  all  its  contents  ;  while,  if  we  remove 
our  things,  the  house  may  be  burned." 

The  Major  Popham,  referred  to  in  the  above 
notice,  was  a  gentleman,  for  the  sake  of  whose 
revolutionary  service,  the  State  of  New  York  kept 
alive  a  court  of  Exchequer,  of  which  he  was  clerk, 
and  whose  duties  were  apparently  concentrated  in 
that  fact.  He  lived  to  a  great  age,  and  was  accus- 
tomed, when  about  to  relate  a  story,  to  say  to  his 
listener,  "  Young  man,  if  I  have  told  you  this 
story  before,  interrupt  me  at  once.  You  cannot 
insult  me  more  than  by  letting  me  tell  you  a  story 
twice."  This  was  high  good  breeding,  and  not 
often  imitated. 

I  wish  I  had  worthier  memories  of  that  really 
remarkable  man  of  the  tribes,  Red  Jacket,  than 
that  I  saw  him  intoxicated  in  the  street.  It  was 
his  doom,  and  he  fulfilled  his  weird.  Judge  Sack- 
ett  told  me,  that  when  Red  Jacket  was  questioned 
as  to  his  birthplace,  he  would  answer,  "  One,  two, 
three,  four,  above  John  Harris ;  "  by  which  he  in- 


74  WHO    GOES    THERE  1 

*• 

tended  to  say,  "  Four  miles  above  the  ferry-house 
of  John  Harris,"  —  a  famous  pioneer  of  the  Cay- 
uga  country.  Mr.  Sackett*,  with  historic  zeal,  has 
purchased  and  owns  the  ground  where  this  forest 
orator  was  born  ;  and  it  may  one  day  have  a  mon- 
ument. 

Of  General,  or  Baron,  Steuben,  while  I  never 
heard  incident,  I  have  before  me  writing  of  his 
own,  which  is  interesting  ;  one,  as  illustrating  his 
peculiar  excellence,  which  was  as  disciplinarian,  a 
great  master  of  the  situation  in  military  affairs  ; 
and  the  other,  as  glimpsing,  and  that  not  unpleas- 
antly or  unfavorably,  into  his  private  life.  These 
papers  are  darkened  and  faded  with  age,  but  they 
show  that  Steuben  put  down  in  the  written  record 
what  he  designed,  and  thus  created  for  himself 
that  high  order  of  reputation  which  is  so  pecu- 
liarly his  own.  He  drilled  and  disciplined  and 
-  planned  and*  arranged,  at  a  time  when,  and  in  an 
army  in  which,  men  came  to  do  a  great  work  for 
their  country,  with  a  most  miscellaneous  idea  of 
going  to  war,  every  one  for  himself. 

The  first  is  his  detailed  statement  of  the  forma- 
tion of  troops  from  those  of  the  States.  It  will  be 
observed,  that,  like  many  other  distinguished  gen- 
tlemen (and  ladies),  he  does  not  consider  correct 
orthography  as  among  the  exact  sciences. 


WHO    GOES    THEflEI  75 

"  Formation  des  trois  Brigades. 

"Virginia,  Marryland,  et  Pensilvanie  pour  la  compagne 
presents. 

1  Brigade  Virginie  .  .  .  ";''V  T;.  VV '..•'-"''  •  730 
Seconde  Brigade  Virg'e  .;  ;>  ;  ••'•'  .  ^  .  '-  •  750 
1  Brigade  Marryland  .,  '"  . '  ".  .  '.  .  980 

Seconde  Brigade  Marryland  .        .        .         .        1050 

1  Brigade  Pennsilvanie         .         .         .  .         .     950 

2  Brigade  Pennsilvanic     .        .    .    w    ;    .        .        .         860 
En  tout  22  Batil  dans  1'ordre  de  battaile." 

The  other  is  a  little  gray-colored  pass-book. 
The  adage  is,  that  no  man  is  a  hero  to  his  valet 
de  cham-bre.  Steuben  seems  to  have  been  pre- 
pared to  be,  what  was  perhaps  better,  a  just  and 
correct  employer.  Veteran  and  valet  have  both 
gone  into  the  dust,  while  the  little  pass-book  re- 
mains to  illustrate  the  private  life  of  a  gallant  old 
soldier  who  did  his  adopted  country  good  service. 

"  Louis  Wolf  est  entre  dans  mon  service  comme  friseur  et 
valet  de  chambre  at  Philadelphie,  le  1  de  Fevrier,  1782. 

**  Je  lui  ait  promis  son  entreineur  comme  valet  de  chambre 
et  une  page  de  dix  dollars  par  mois.  Surquoi  il  a  recue  a 
compte  les  sommes  suivantes.  —  43  dollars.  50  dollars.  To- 
tal 93  dollars." 

And  to  this  blended  French  and  English  is  his 
signature,  "  Steuben,  "  not  without  those  cabalis- 
tic flourishes,  by  which,  probably,  foreign  gentle- 
men mean  so  much. 

I  wish  I  had  known  old  Donald  McDonald  bet- 


76  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

ter :  first,  because  he  was,  in  himself,  a  rare  man, 
a  true  Caxon,  whose  shop  was  a  sure  place  to 
hear  something  of  that  quaint  talk  which,  in  less 
rapid  days  than  the  time  in  which  we  now  haste 
in  all  things,  was  the  characteristic  of  the  barber  ; 
and  next,  because  he  declared  that  he  recollected 
Doctor  Johnson,  as  coming  into  a  shop  in  London, 
where  he  was  an  apprentice ;  and  it  might  well 
have  been  so,  for  McDonald  was  a  man  who  knew 
the  worth  of  man.  He  claimed  to  have  seen  Fox, 
and  to  have  been  of  the  Buff  and  Blue.  The 
habitues  at  McDonald's  were  of  the  best,  men  of 
his  vicinage,  and  they  made  memorable  hours 
there.  There  might  have  been  interesting  Dies 
McDonaldienses  written.  He  said,  before  he  came 
to  Albany,  Governor  Jay  bought  his  wigs  from 
London.  The  last  heads  he  powdered  were  those 
of  the  Patroon  and  a  Mr.  Penfield,  of  Ontario 
county. 

I  confess  pleasant  surprise,  though  nothing  about 
it  ever  came  within  my  observation,  at  finding,  in 
history,  that  Flora  McDonald,  whose  name  is  im- 
perishably  associated  with  Prince  Charlie,  was 
once  a  resident  of  our  country,  and,  chased  on  her 
voyage  home  by  one  of  our  privateers,  pleasantly 
remarked  that  she  had  been  in  danger,  as 

O         " 

well  for  the  house  of  Hanover  as  for  that  of 
Stuart. 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  77 

- 

That  was  a  very  curious  story,  related  to  me  by 
an  aged  counsellor  of  New  York,  whose  acquaint- 
ance with  the  city  land  titles  was  very  minute, 
that  Charles  Graham  kept  a  fort,  in  Garden  street, 
for  the  Pretender,  and  only  surrendered  on  condi- 
tion that  he  should  have  the  old  walls  of  the  fort 
to  build  a  vault  in  Trinity  church-yard.  I  should 
like  to  believe  it,  if  I  could,  for  it  would  be  a 
dainty  bit  of  romance  to  inlay  our  city  map.  I 
have  not  been  able  else  to  find  record  that  our 
country  was  at  all  stirred  by  "  the  affair  of  '45," 
except  finding  an  address  in  wrhich,  I  think,  the 
detested  Duke  of  Cumberland  was  eulogized. 

Probably  no  one  name  in  all  English  literature 
is  so  universally  a  ceaseless  interest  with  reading 
men  in  this  country  as  is  that  of  Dr.  Johnson. 
We  read  all  of  him,  or  of  his  associations,  with 
delight.  Even  the  minute  record  of  Boswell  did 
not  satiate  the  world-wide  circle  of  admirers  of 
the  man  who  was  the  leader  of  a  company  of 
intellects,  each  one  of  whom  has  left  a  name  that 
adorns  letters. 

Mrs.  Piozzi's  book  was  one  of  the  latest  addi- 
tions to  our  history  of  Dr.  Johnson,  and  because 
of  her  knowledge  of  him,  it  became  interesting  to 
learn  all  that  we  could  know  of  herself.  It  will 
be  seen,  by  reference  to  her  book,  that  she  had,  in 
her  extreme  old  age,  a  species  of  absurd  sentiment, 


78  WHO    GOES    THERE ? 

or  flirtation,  for  Mr.  Conway,  an  actor,  with  whom 
she  corresponds,  and  to  whom  she  bequeaths  tes- 
timonials of  affection. 

When  Gilfert  had  his  magnificent  company  of 
actors  at  Albany, —  a  set  of  men  whose  equals  it 
would  be  difficult  to  find  in  any  one  gathering  of 
that  art  in  America, —  he  made  a  brief  engage- 
ment for  Conway,  whose  master  part  was  that  of 
Hamlet.  I  recollect  seeing  him,  as  his  service  was 
over,  going  through  the  street  on  his  way  to  the 
steamboat,  and  a  conversation  occurring  about  the 
success  of  his  week,  which  had  been  quite  re- 
munerative. He  was  tall  and  very  handsome,  and 
was  considered  to  have  all  his  capital  in  his  good 
looks,  and  that  his  intellectual  endowment  was  a 
very  light  one.  If  it  had  been  known  that  he  was 
the  pet  of  the  charming  Thrale,  whose  house  was 
Johnson's  happy  home  for  so  many  years,  Mr. 
Conway  would  have  had  our  stare  to  all  the  extent 
an  actor's  love  of  notoriety  could  have  desired. 

The  tumult  of  the  French  revolution  sent  to  our 
country  a  large  number  of  refugees,  who  were  of 
the  royalists,  or  loyalists,  to  the  old  government, 
and  who  fled  to  save  their  heads.  They  came, 
and  met  the  exile  with  the  grace  and  adaptation 
to  circumstances  which  puts  a  Frenchman  on  his 
feet  all  over 'the  world,  and  which  makes  them  a 
nation  prepared  for  dominion  wherever  they  go. 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  79 

These  fugitives  from  the  detestable  revolutionists 
were,  many  of  them,  gentlemen,  and  made  them- 
selves agreeably  known  among  us  by  their  good 
manners.  They  must  have  been  in  a  great  fear 
of  the  power  they  had  left  behind  them,  as,  in  one 
instance  known  to  me,  the  individual  changed  his 
name,  assumed  a  new  one  for  his  passport,  and 
retained  the  latter  in  this  country,  when  his  de- 
scendants, afterward  seeking  for  the  old  place  and 
name  in  France,  could  not  find  it,  but  were  recog- 
nized so  soon  as  they  deciphered  their  former 
estate.  These  gentlemen  brought  with  them 
handsome  dress  and  furniture,  saving,  as  well  as 
they  could,  something  out  of  the  wreck.  Their 
necessities  induced  them  afterward  to  dispose  of 
these,  and  I  could  yet  readily  find  a  curious  escri- 
toire, very  richly  and  elaborately  inlaid,  which 
was  said  to  have  come  out  of  the  palace,  though  it 
is  not  probable  that  they  who  fled  from  the  Tuil- 
leries  essayed  to  save  anything  but  themselves, 
fortunate  if  they  took  their  head,  in  its  natural 
position,  away  with  them.  They  returned,  as 
many  as  could  go,  when  the  better  u  order  "  pre- 
vailed again,  and  others  faded  away,  pleasant  and 
queer,  their  hearts  in  the  old  home.  A  number 
of  them  lived  on  or  near  the  Hudson  and  the 
Mohawk  rivers,  a  few  miles  northwa'rd  of  Albany ; 
and  it  was  the  theme  of  considerable  neighborhood 


80  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

wonder  when  the  child  of  one  of  them  died  and 
was  buried  in  its  cradle.  Either  these  old-world 
men,  or  the  people  of  other  old  days  of  war  and 
adventure,  gave  something  of  legend  to  this  neigh- 
borhood. In  the  latter  part  of  the  last  century,  a 
family  whose  characteristic  would  be  that  of  calm 
good  sense,  resided  in  one  of  the  houses  near  the 
Hudson  river,  not  far  from  the  Aunt  Schuyler 
house  of  Mrs.  Grant's  history.  A  variety  of 
superstitious  stories  were  rife  about  the  house,  and 
when  this  family  went  there  to  reside,  it  was  con- 
fidently told  them  that  they  would  .be  disturbed  \>y 
sights  and  sounds  unearthly. 

It  held  the  unenviable  reputation  of  being  a 
"  haunted  house."  The  family  were  not  moved 
by  all  these  stories.  They  believed  they  had  no 
other  foundation  than  the  imagination  of  their 
superstitious  Dutch  neighbors,  and  their  possession 
of  the  premises  was  undisturbed.  I  wish  to  say 
that  what  follows  is  supported  by  testimony  which, 
in  my  knowledge  of  its  entire  reliability,  is  irresist- 
ible, and  the  explanation  is  to  this  hour  in  mystery. 

One  summer  morning  near  noon,  so  that  no 
shadow  of  night  was  in  the  affair  to  give  it  uncer- 
tainty, the  lady  of  the  house  with  her  servant 
was  in  the  house  attending  to  some  domestic  duty, 
when  they,  both  of  them,  saw  approaching  the 
house,  an  elegantly  dressed  old  gentleman,  his 


WHO    GOES    THERE ?  81 

costume  old-fashioned,  with  short  clothes,  silver 
knee-buckles,  silver  shoe-buckles  which  glittered  in 
the  sun,  hand-ruffles,  cocked  hat,  all  quite  of  the 
distinguished  gentleman  cast.  He  seemed  coming 
to  enter  the  house,  so  that  the  lady  told  her  ser- 
vant to  remove  some  obstruction  from  the  hall. 
Suddenly  he  disappeared,  and  they  could  see  noth- 
ing of  him,  nor  could  they  afterward  find  any 
trace  of  him.  His  coming  was  right  in  the  way 
where  the  master  of  the  house  was  on  his  route 
from  the  field.  He  saw  nothing  of  him. 

The  most  distinguished  of  all  who  came  to 
America  was  that  statesman  of  all  times,  Talley- 
rand. For  a  time  he  boarded  at  Brooklyn,  and  I 
have  heard  Mrs.  Cantine,  of  Ithaca,  who  was  a 
fellow -boarder  with  him  at  the  house  of  Madame 
Rosette,  speak  admiringly  of  the  delightful  manner 
in  which  he  read  aloud,  but  generally  was  dull  with 
the  ladies,  even  to  falling  asleep  in  their  company. 
He  was  at  Albany,  and  Henry  Abel  would  insist 
upon  it  that  he  had  seen  him  walking  out  with  his 
violin  in  amusing  himself;  but  I  doubt  he  mistook 
some  less  stately  refugee  for  him.  He  boarded  at 
the. house  of  Louis  Genay,  whose  sign,  L.  Genay, 
was  a  waif  that  came  down  to  later  times.  This 
Mr.  Genay  (whose  descendants  have  changed  the 
spelling  to  Genet),  was  the  sexton  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church  in  its  inception  at  Albany  ;  and 


82  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

when  the  first  mass  was  said  at  the  house  of  Mrs. 
Cassidy,  it  is  tradition  that  Talleyrand  was  among 
those  present.  The  Bishop  of  Autun !  he  might 
have  officiated. 

Of  Le  Ray  de  Chaumont,  so  well  known  in  our 
North,  and  whose  name  is  perpetuated  by  its  asso- 
ciation with  Lake  Ontario,  I  only  recollect  that 
when  he  travelled  to  Albany  he  brought  his  cook 
with  him ;  a  procedure  which,  though  it  showed 
his  care  for  himself,  as  he  came  to  the  hotel  of 
Leverett  Cruttenden,  might  be  considered  as  add- 
ing gilding  to  the  refined  gold. 

Something  of  that  new  First  Family  of  all  the 
earth,  the  Bonapartes,  crossed  our  horizon.  The 
annual  journeys  of  Joseph  from  his  beautiful  River 
Point  palace  at  Bordentown,  to  Ballston  and  Sara- 
toga, were  noticed  ;  and  I  remember  that  Hermanus 
Bleecker  defended  a  suit  brought  by  Erastus 
Young,  a  coach  proprietor,  against  Joseph,  for  some 
alleged  breach  of  contract  in  the  coaching  between 
the  Springs  and  Albany.  My  sympathies  were 
for  the  exile,  as  I  knew  into  what  hands  he  had 
fallen  in  this  case.  The  brother  of  his  brother, 
and  ex-king  of  Spain,  I  hope  was  successful.  This 
I  know  that  in  Mr.  Bleecker  he  had  distinguished 
counsel  and  the  best  of  friends. 

I  have  talked  with  some  men  who  were  so  fortu- 
nate as  to  see  the  Napoleon,  —  the  man  who  made 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  83 

his  own  fame  and  left  a  capital  in  excess,  which  at 
this  day  governs  a  great  fraction  of  the  world, 
and  the  celebrity  of  which  does  not  seem  to  grow 
old.  I  call  these  men  who  thus  saw  him  fortunate 
indeed,  for  the  curiosity  of  history  in  respect  to 
him  is  insatiable,  notwithstanding  that  a  Napoleon 
library  of  memoirs  would  already  fill  the  house. 
The  great  reason  why  mankind  is  so  entranced 
about  Napoleon  is,  that  he  came  from  the  crowd 
upon  the  old  dais  of  imperial  dignity,  and  had  all 
the  romance  of  life  about  him.  He  blazed,  and 
bur  eyes  are  even  yet  dazzled  by  the  light.  I  have 
talked  with  those  who  saw  him  in  his  power,  in  his 
exile,  at  his  grave,  —  only  to  look  at  him,  it  is  true  ; 
but  even  of  this  Beranger  makes  material  for  song ; 
and  one  is  gratified  at  some  other  evidence  about 
him  as  he  actually  was,  than  what  is  found  in  me- 
moirs and  biographies,  most  of  which  were  written 
to  advance  some  great  theory  of  government. 

Charles  King,  one  of  the  most  agreeable  of 
men,  saw  him  at  a  military  review,  and  he  sat,  not 
stolid  of  course,  but  as  banishing  all  expression 
from  his  face  ;  but  his  hoVse  made  some  false  move- 
ment, and  in  an  instant  his  look  was  intensely  ani- 
mated and  his  eye  brilliant.  Mr.  Bayard  declared 
his  smile  the  sweetest  that  could  be  imagined. 
He  saw  the  grand  departure  of  the  guards  for 
Austerlitz.  It  was  in  all  the  scenic  accompani- 


84  WHO    GOES    THERE  1 

merits  of  a  city's  pageantry.  It  was  Mr.  Van 
Rensselear's  good  fortune  to  see  the  emperor  drive 
into  the  Tuilleries  after  the  return  from  Moscow, 
and  forty  years  afterward  to  see  the  Napoleon  of 
our  own  clay  go  forth  from  Paris  to  the  Italian 
campaign.  These  gentlemen,  favored  indeed,  thus 
caught  glimpses  of  the  Emperor  in  some  hours  of  his 
career  of  power.  Governor  King  also  alkided  to 
his  handsome  face,  and  his  power  to  banish  all  ex- 
pression from  it. 

I  met  a  quiet,  unpretending  old  man,  standing 
by  the  side  of  his  son,  who  was  a  steamboat  pilot. 
He  had  been  a  British  soldier,  and  his  regiment 
was  stationed  at  St.  Helena,  while  the  emperor 
was  there  in  exile.  He  saw  him  examine  and  at- 
tend to  some  plants,  and  was  impressed  with  the 
sadness  of  his  look.  He  had  planted  some  flowers 
for  him. 

Another,  whose  father  was  on  the  island  in  the 
service,  was  just  old  enough  to  recollect  that  the 
object  of  his  admiration  and  wonder  while  he  saw 
Napoleon  buried,  was  that  he  was  laid  out  in  his 
"cocked  hat!"  * 

These  are  all,  it  may  be,  trifling  recollections ; 
but  they  are  of  a  man  in  relation  to  whose  every 
movement  the  world  has  turned  with  an  interest  to 
know  all  and  everything  about  him.  I  can  recol- 
lect what  great  favor  was  extended,  by  the  popular 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  85 

opinion  in  America,  to  Dr.  O'Meara's  book,  which 
revealed  the  ill-treatment  of  the  Governor  of  St. 
Helena  toward  the  emperor,  and  that  the  feeling 
in  this  country  was  almost  in  unanimity  one  of 
sympathy  for  the  great  exile.  Then,  nothing 
seemed  less  likely  than,  a  return  of  the  name  of 
Bonaparte  to  power,  except  that  a  lingering  hope 
watched  the  life  of  the  young  Duke  of  Reichstadt. 
When  he  died,  the  world's  hope  for  "  the  family  " 
seemed  extinguished. 

That  we  should  live  to  see  the  name  of  Napo- 
leon one  of  the  ruling  ones  of  the  world  was  out- 
side even  of  all  the  romance  of  history.  I  believe 
the  peaceable  years  which  followed  1815  had  edu- 
cated mankind  to  the  belief  that  war  was  an  affair 
of  the  past,  and  that  the  European  world  was  to 
go  on  in  the  decent  dulness  of  legitimacy.  . 

Hence,  part  of  the  feeling  which  now  gives  such 
prestige  to  the  Napoleon  III.  is,  that  his  coming  to 
power  seems  to  be  a  chapter  of  poetical  justice. 
The  Napoleon  was.  exiled,  we  all  believed,  in  an 
unjust,  unfeeling,  and  cowardly  manner.  Such  is 
the  impulse  of  the  popular  opinion,  even  though 
the  truth  of  justice  may,  or  ought  to,  soften  that 
judgment.  To  see  Napoleon  III.,  by  his  uncle's 
name,  an  Emperor,  in  the  grandeur  of  his  power,  is 
the  romance  properly  written  out  again. 

When  Louis  Napoleon  came  to  New  York,  it 


86  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

was  to  the  City  Hotel,  kept  by  Mr.  Mather. 
Colonel  Webb  and  some  friends  were  dining  there. 
Mr.  Mather  requested  permission  to  bring  him 
into  the  pleasant  circle,  as  a  stranger ;  and  he 
joined  them  in  an  evening  not  likely  to  be  forgot- 
ten. I  do  not  at  all  believe  the  stories  about  any 
low-life  associations  formed  by  him  while  in  New 
York.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  select  and  care- 
ful as  to  the  invitations  that  he  accepted  ;  and  I 
have  heard  Mr/Raymond  say,  that  he  took  pains 
to  ascertain,  when  in  London,  whether  the  ac- 
counts which  were  frequently  given  of  his  destitu- 
tion in  that  city  were  true,  and  he  found  that  they 
were  not ;  that  he  lived  pleasantly  and  respectably, 
and  that  the  chief  impression  there  concerning  him 
was  that  he  was  slightly  insane  ;  as  he,  a  private  gen- 
tleman, in  the  obscurity  of  the  multitude  of  London, 
while  a  great  and  powerful  monarch  was  apparently 
in  complete  power  on  the  throne  of  France,  would 
often  say,  and  say  it  seriously,  "  When  I  shall  be 
at  the  head  of  affairs  in  France."  What  could 
sound  more  like  insanity  ?  And  yet  he  is  head 
of  affairs  imperially  in  France,  and  not  very  much 
removed  from  being  head  of  affairs  in  England,  also. 
I  think  there  is  to-day 'a  much  clearer  idea  of 
what  Napoleon  really  was,  than  in  his  own  time. 
The  world  judges  best  in  the  distance ;  at  least, 
such  is  a  maxim  in  history,  and  I  almost  give  in 


WHO    GOES    THERE f  87 

adherence  to  it.  Europe  seems  to  have  been  sur- 
prised and  indignant,  that  the  new  man  should 
have  been  so  presumptuous  as  to  invade  the  old 
order  of  things  ;  and,  in  our  own  country,  federal- 
ist and  democrat  persisted  in  borrowing  English 
and  French  spectacles,  with  which  to  look  at  him 
and  his  actions,  while  they  could  have  seen  clearly 
through  their  own  just  vision.  It  was  a  long 
series  of  years  before  we  comprehended  that  Napo- 
leon was  not  exactly  of  the  French  revolution, 
that  he  was  not  a  partner  of  the  miserable 
wretches,  who  insulted  the  name  of  humanity  by 
their  actions,  but  that  he  was  behind  all  that  trag- 
edy, and  came  on  the  scene  at  a  later  hour.  Now, 
we  understand  all  that,  and  judge  of  him  in  a  fair 
estimate  of  all  that  he  really  did  ;  and  the  univer- 
sal American  feeling  is  that  of  admiration,  not  so 
entirely  obscuring  our  senses  but  that  we  see  he 
was,  in  its  most  intense  sense,  an  individualist ;  but 
he  was  so  on  a  scale  so  grand  as  that  it  compels 
the  public  heart.  I  have  seen  attempts  to  break 
up  this  enthusiasm  ;  but  it  is  in  vain.  A  few  men 
listen  to  Dr.  Channing  ;  but  the  great  voice  of  the 
people  is  in  the  Vive  Napoleon.  I  heard  the  wise 
and  venerable  Josiah  Quincy  and  his  estimable 
relative,  Mr.  Watterston,  discuss  as  to  what  would 
be  the  one  name  of  that  age,  if  it  settled  into  one 
designation  ;  and,  while  Mr.  Watterston  said  the 


88  WHO    GOES    THERE * 

Age  of  John  Howard,  the  sagacious  old  man  said, 
the  Age  of  Napoleon. 

To  this  day,  without  reflecting  011  consequences, 
I  think  there  is  a  strata  of  disappointment,  in  the 
American  mind,  that  the  battle  of  Waterloo  re- 
sulted as  it  did  ;  and  that,  not  because  of  ill  feel- 
ing'toward  England,  but  because  it  was  out  oij 
the  rules  that  Napoleon  should  know  what  defeat 
was. 

My  readers  will  think  that  I  linger  as  long  in 
and  about  the  day  of  the  Revolution,  as  if  I  were 
of  the  immortal  band  of  pensioners.  It  is  the 
shadowy  and  romantic  era  of  our  history. 
Thenceforth,  we  get  into  the  broad  glow  of  mod- 
ern realism,  and  look  at  men  with  little  belief  in 
their  quaintness  ;  while,  for  any  of  the  men,  whose 
lives  were,  in  greatest  degree,  of  the  last  century, 
we  may  take  all  old  ways  and  customs  as  of  the 
texture  of  their  lives.  When  Timothy  Pickering 
was  in  his  last  sickness,  as  he  had  never  been  sick 
before,  the  doctor  (it  seems  to  me,  with  more 
politeness  than  most  doctors  show  to  us)  consulted 
him  as  to  what  medicine  he  would  take.  u  Why," 
said  he,  "  let  me  see,  the  last  medicine  I  took  was 
when  I  was  at  Yorktown,  fifty-five  years  ago,  and 
that  was  glauber  salts.  I  think  that  will  do." 

o 

Mr.  Quincy  told  me,  that,  in  his  younger  days, 
nothing  was  more  common  in  the  lesser  courts  of 


WIW    GOES    THERE f  89 

Boston  than  to  hear  John  Hancock's  name  called 
in  default.  But  he  had  with  that  a  much  pleas- 
anter  recollection  of  him,  as  having,  when  a  boy, 
dined  with  him.  The  Governor  sat  at  a  little 
table,  apart  from  his  guests.  A  servant,  in  enter- 
ing the  room,  stumbled,  and  crashing  down,  came 
glasses  and  plates  from  the  epergne.  "O  John, 
John,"  said  he,  "  break  as  much  as  you  want  to, 
but  don't  make  such  a  noise."  And,  in  this  joke, 
he  forgot  the  damage  to  his  china. 

A  few  years  before  the  Hancock  house  was 
pulled  down,  I  recollect  seeing  an  old  gentleman 
pacing  up  and  down  in  front  of  the  house,  a  good 
representative  of  the  name.  It  looked  like  the 
historic  house  then  ;  and,  I  must  say,  that  it  was 
an  amazement  to  men  outside  of  Boston,  that  any 
money  consideration  was  strong  enough  to  prevent 
the  city  of  Boston  from  retaining,  as  long  as  stone 
walls  would  exist,  the  Hancock  house.  Boston 
came  down  several  degrees  in  the  general  ther- 
mometer when  the  demolition  of  that  interesting 
mansion  was  known.  I  confess,  the  city  has 
looked  a  little  common-place  to  me  since  then. 

The  old  river  families  of  New  York  had  not 
quite  lost  their  caste  of  influence  in  my  earlier 
recollection.  The  Van  Rensselaer  was  a  popular 
name,  as  represented  to  us  by  the  old  Patroon,  in 
those  days  a  proverb  for  all  that  could  be  supposed 


90  WHO     GOES    THERE f 

opulent ;  and  the  respected,  quiet  old  gentleman, 
with  a  variety  of  carriages,  with  the  old  fashion  of 
powdered  hair,  walking  at  the  slow  pace  of  leisure 
through  the  streets,  always  with  one  hand  un- 
gloved, and  the  very  solid  fact  that  his  was  a 
domain  of  estate  reaching  twelve  miles  from  his 
manor  house  in  all  the  four  ways  of  the  compass, — 
all  this  made  him  quite  one  of  the  personages  of 
the  times.  It  was  known  that,  at  his  death,  the 
grandeur  of  his  estate  was  to  be  diminished,  and 
we  heard  vague  and  undefined  relations  of  all  that 
entail  had,  to  that  time,  done  for  the  estate. 

The  Clintons  had  a  representative  that  acknowl- 
edged no  superior.  Of  him,  I  shall  write  in  other 
pages. 

The  Delanceys,  before  the  Revolution,  a  very 
powerful  family,  were  not  then  as  well  known  as 
now,  when  we  recognize  their  worth  in  the  estima- 
ble diocesan  of  the  name. 

The  Livingstons,  though  not  relatively  in  rank 
as  before,  stoutly,  in  various  ways,  maintained 
their  ascendancy.  Edward  Livingston,  recently 
so  admirably  biographized,  was  the  very  right- 
hand  man  of  General  Jackson,  writing  for  him,  in 
1832,  a  proclamation  about  the  South  Carolina 
difficulties,  so  intensely  federal,  that  I  recollect 
hearing  Mr.  Harmanus  Bleecker  say,  that  it  was 
more  decided  in  federal  doctrine  than  General 


WHO    GOES    THERfi?  91 

Hamilton  would  have  ventured  to  utter,  and  Mr. 
Bleecker  thought  that  figure  exhausted  all  compar- 
ison. Charles  L.  Livingston,  a  very  able  and 
indolent  man,  was  speaker  of  the  assembly,  while 
Edward  P.  Livingston,  ponderous  and  rather  dig- 
nified, was  lieutenant-governor,  and  presided  over 
the  senate.  So  the  Livingstons  rather  sustained 
themselves. 

There  was  an  old  colonial  family  (banished  by 
their  espousal  of  the  crown  side,  instead  of  that  of 
the  republic),  in  whose  annals  of  romance  the  tax- 
payers of  New  York  were  interested,  and  romance 
and  taxes  do  not  often  touch  their  velvet  and  iron 
hands  together. 

Frederick  Philipse  was  the  owner  of  a  superb 
manor.  It  had  a  dainty  domain  over  a  rich  terri- 
tory, in  that  part  of  Westchester  county  where  one 
relic  of  him  yet  remains, —  the  little,  quaint  weath- 
er-vane which  is  above  the  old  church  of  the 
Tarrytown  cemetery.  Mr.  Irving  has  made  all 
that  locality  memorable,  in  his  charming  stories  of 
Sleepy  Hollow,  and  he  lies  in  the  shadow  of  the 
old  church  himself.  In  that  vane  the  letters  F.  P. 
are  curiously  traced.  I  suppose  the  manor  house 
had  all  the  brilliant  associations  of  colonial  hospi- 
tality, especially  as  it  was  at  just  such  a  distance 
from  New  York  as  permitted,  even  in  those  days 
and  those  roads,  frequent  journeys.  And  Miss 


92  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

Mary  Philipse  was  a  young  lady  who  won  even  tnen 
the  attention  and  notice  of  our  own  Washington, 
then  a  handsome  young  officer  in  the  most  loyal 
service  of  His  Majesty  George  Third.  He  visited 
at  the  manor  house,  and  he  could  not  resist  the 
fair  lady  ;  but  duty  called  him  eastward.  He  was 
ever  a  reflecting  man,  and  did  not  at  once  declare 
himself,  but  left,  with  a  chosen  friend,  a  charge  to 
keep  watch  and  ward  over  his  venture  in  this  fair 
argosy.  He  left,  I  doubt  not,  reluctantly.  De- 
tained at  Boston  longer  than  he  had  hoped,  his 
friend  wrote  to  him  to  warn  him  that  another  was 
bold  to  win  the  fair  Philipse.  He  could  not 
return,  and  the  lady,  little  conscious  what  a  prize 
she  had  lost,  accepted  the  proposals  of  Captain 
Morris.  A  nation's  destiny  was  in  the  choice  of 
the  lovely  lady,  and  we  may  not  now  stop  to 
reflect  what  "  might  have  been,"  which,  Whittier 
well  says,  are  of  all  words  the  saddest. 

The  storm  of  the  Revolution  came.  The  family 
of  Philipse  and  Captain  Morris  were  loyal  to  the 
crown,  and  in  their  great,  but  perhaps  chivalrous, 
error,  the  lands  of  the  fair  manor  of  Westchester 
went  to  the  new  state,  and  bills  of  attainder  "were 
passed,  which  included  the  name  of  Mrs.  Morris ; 
very  ungallantly,  but  in  the  hour  of  war  we  do 
not  stop  for  the  gentle  amenities  of  life.  It  is  a 
fast  and  fierce  philosophy  we  study  then. 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  93 

There  were  broad  and  valuable  lands  in  the  ad- 
jacent county  of  Putnam,  and  these,  too,  went  to 
the  public  title,  and  the  State,  in  process  of  time, 
made  conveyance  to  settlers.  But,  when  the  fever 
of  war  is  over,  nations  grow  calm  and  courteous, 
and  wish  to  forget  many  a  fact  which,  in  the  strug- 
gle, they  flaunted  in  the  face  of  mankind.  The 
State,  after  all,  thought  it  not  wise  to  continue  the 
attainder  of  the  ladies,  and  it  was,  so  far  as  Mrs. 
Morris  was  concerned,  removed ;  and  the  shrewd 
and  rising  John  Jacob  Astor  bought  of  her  her 
title  to  the  Putnam  county  lands.  Mrs.  Morris 
lived  till  1826,  and  must  often  have  thought  if  it 
would  not  have  been  wiser  for  her  to  have  smiled 
very  decidedly  on  that  modest,  but  very  good- 
looking,  young  officer  who  afterward  yielded  to 
the  charms  of  the  widow  Custis. 

Mr.  Astor  took  his  title  to  the  courts,  and  a 
good  and  strong  litigation  was  had  ;  and  I  remem- 
ber to  have  seen  that  very  impressive  looking 
counsellor,  Abraham  Van  Vechten,  engaged  in  the 
trial  before  the  court  of  errors.  Mr.  Astor's  claim 
was  sustained,  and  then  the  State,  to  remunerate 
those  who  had  trusted  its  deeds,  issued  a  public 
stock,  called  the  Astor  stock.  It  was  to  the 
amount  of  several  hundreds  of  thousands  of  dol- 
lars, and  was  only  finally  paid  up  a  very  few  years 


94  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

since.  So  New  York  was  long  taxed  because 
Washington  was  not  a  quick-worded  lover. 

As  the  manor  life  of  New  York  has  now  almost 
entirely  passed  into  history,  what  a  clever  book 
might  be  made  of  its  annals  I  It  would  be  read  as 
we  read  romances,—  interested  in  the  incidents, 
and  not  caring  for  the  exact  wisdom  of  facts  that 
are  in  the  dust  of  time. 

When  our  authors  shall  look  to  their  home  for 
their  incidents,  the  chronicles  of  the  Hudson  will 
be  found  a  source  which  will  furnish  the  most  in- 
teresting matgriale  for  romance,  from  the  hour  when 
a  few  adventurous  and  brave  men  raised  the  Euro- 
pean flag  at  the  mouth  of  the  creek  which  the 
Norwegian  afterward  identified  with  his  name. 

Upon  the  shores  of  the  Hudson  lived  Mrs.  Mont- 
gomery, the  long  mourning  widow  of  the  brave 
and  rash  and  celebrated  hero  of  the  Quebec  affair 
of  revolutionary  story.  I  recollect  seeing  her  in 
Albany  about  the  time  of  his  reinterment,  when 
the  State  of  New  York,  awaking  from  a  long  sleep 
on  the  subject,  had  his  remains,  in  all  succession  of 
ceremonial,  brought  from  Quebec,  where  their  first 
battle  grave  had  been,  through  line  of  pageantry 
and  funeral  pomp  to  New  York,  where,  in  front  of 
St.  Paul's  church,  the  mural  tablet  is  the  object  that 
amidst  the  greatest,  loudest  confusion  of  life,  fixes 
the  eye  of  the  stranger  ;  for  all  over  the  world 


WHO    GOS    THERE?  Hft 

there  is  a  strange  fascination  in  the  reading  of 
epitaphs.  Its  philosophy  is  that  we  seek  to  know 
all  we  can  about  the  grave  in  this  chapter  of  its 
work,  even  though  we  know  that  affection  or  re- 
spect or  something  else  than  the  real  truth,  is  the 
virtue  of  all  this  monumental  literature. 

Mrs.  Montgomery  was  at  Albany  at  this  period, 
and  what  especially  impressed  her  look  on  my 
memory  was  her  extraordinary  small  eyes,  so  like 
those  of  a  Chinese.  The  pageant  at  Albany  was 
in  all  the  best  of  pomp  that  the  city  could  furnish. 
At  its  head  rode  Major  Birdsall  of  the  regular 
army ;  and  the  next  week  we  were  out  to  see  his 
military  funeral,  —  murdered  as  he  had  been  by 
one  of  his  own  soldiers. 

If  the  rock  at  Quebec  was,  at  the  time  he  led  up 
that  most  forlorn  hope,  in  the  condition  in  which 
it  now  is,"  the  attempt  then  to  get  into  the  citadel 
was  of  all  efforts  the  most  mad.  That  of  Wolfe 
seemed  an  easy  affair  in  comparison  with  it. 
Montgomery's  career  and  death  made  a  memorable 
page  in  the  annals  of  the  British  Parliament,  and 
all  the  great  minds  of  the  era  were  in  that  debate, 
to  extenuate  or  defend  or  deplore  his  course. 

Looking,  some  years  since,  over  old  legislative  pa- 
pers of  the  New  York  Legislature,  I  found  a  copy 
of  the  will  of  General  Montgomery,  which  I 
thought  was  a  curious  and  interesting  document. 


90  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

it  used  manly,  simple,  and  affectionate  language , 
the  very  words  for  a  true-hearted  man  and  a  brave 
soldier  to  utter.  His  widow,  at  a  very  early  period 
after  the  Revolution,  memorialized  the  Legislature 
for  a  grant  of  land ;  and  the  direction  given  by  the 
General's  will  to  his  property  to  Lady  Ranelagh, 
was  used  as  one  of  the  reasons  for  urging  the 
grant. 

The  committee  of  the  legislature  —  as  is  the 
custom  with  those  gentlemen  —  used  very  brave 
and  glowing  language  about  the  hero.  I  don't 
quite  see  the  grant  of  land,  though  we  may  hope, 
for  the  credit  of  our  ancestors,  that  it  was  given 
promptly.  At  all  events,  the  State  named  a  coun- 
ty after  him,  and  even  these  shadows  of  public 
gratitude  are  something.  There  is  a  peculiar  pas- 
sage in  the  committee's  report  which  gives  a  light 
on  history :  "  that  at  the  siege  of  Quebec,  hope 
was  still  entertained  of  an  accommodation  with 
Britain."  Well  may  Sir  John  Russell,  in  his  edit- 
ing of  Fox's  letters,  speak  strongly  of  the  fatuity 
that  actuated  England's  counsels  in  the  dispute 
with  this  country. 

His  will  gives  his  property  to  his  sister,  Lady 
Ranelagh,  saying,  "  My  dear  sister's  large  family 
wants  all  I  can  spare.  The  ample  fortune  that  my 
wife  (Janet  Livingston  Montgomery)  will  succeed 
to,  makes  it  unnecessary  to  provide  for  her  in  a 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  97 

manner  suitable  to  her  situation  in  life,  and  ade 
quate  to  the  warm  affection  I  bear  her."  And 
the  will  contains  also  this  soldier- like  utterance : 
"  Though  the  hurry  of  public  business  and  want 
of  knowledge  of  the  law  may  render  this  instru- 
ment incorrect,  yet  I  believe  my  intention  is  plain. 
I  hope,  therefore,  no  advantage  will  be  taken  of 
any  inaccuracy." 

I  recollect  a  pleasant  old  gentleman,  Mr.  Nick 
olas  Van  Rensselaer,  who  had  accompanied  Mont- 
gomery on  the  Quebec  expedition,  who  survived  in 
all  the  kindly  surroundings  of  a  very  comfortable 
home  at  Greenbush,  opposite  Albany,  who  had 
the  mental  and  physical  activity  to  go  to  Boston 
in  1843,  when  the  top-stone  of  the  Bunker  Hill 
Monument  was  laid.  It  was  near  his  house  I  met 
Edward  C.  Genet,  who,  —  at  one  time  appealed 
from  Washington  to  the  people,  —  believing  that 
the  word  Revolution  was  as  potential  here  as  in 
France,  and  that,  as  he  represented  the  revolution- 
ary government,  the  people  of  America  would  do 
everything  he  could  ask.  His  life  had  been  a  very 
eventful  one  in  its  diplomatic  service  in  Old  Rus- 
sia and  for  New  France.  I  thought  him  brusque 
and  not  in  the  courtly  ways  of  Frenchmen  ;  but  as 
1  he  found  fault  with  me,  and  he  was  an  old  man  aijd 
I  a  boy,  he  was  probably  right. 


CHAPTER    III. 

FROM   ELEAZER   WILLIAMS   TO    H.    R.    STORRS. 

WOULD  like  very  much  to  have  believed 
in  Eleazer  Williams'  Dauphinate,  for  I 
saw  him  several  times,  and  it  would  have 
been  a  refreshing  property  in  romance  to 
have  thought  him,  the  coming-up  of  the 
poor,  starved,  and  abused  little  regal  boy, 
upon  whom  those  hyenas  of  the  French  Rev- 
olution lavished  their  barbarity.  But  I  never  had 
it  smoothed  to  my  historical  conscience.  He  cer- 
tainly did  look  the  Bourbon  very  strikingly.  I 
saw  him  examining  the  cabinet  collection  of  por- 
trait medals  of  all  the  long  line  of  French  kings 
and  emperors,  which  Louis  Napoleon  gave  to  the 
New  York  State  Library ;  and  he  took  off  his 
graceful  blue  cap,  and,  placing  his  hand  on  his 
large  Bourbon  forehead,  pointed  to  the  medals  of 
the  later  kings.  But  the  old  man  did  not  look  like 
a  distinguished  man,  but  like  a  good  old  Indian 
clergyman,  as  he  was  ;  and  it  was  a  pity  to  dis- 
turb his  pastoral  and  pastorate  by  any  wild  dreams 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  99 

of  impossible  uprisings  into  royalty.  If  Prince  de 
Joinville  did  amuse  his  and  the  public's  curiosity, 
it  was  very  cruel  unless  the  prince  knew  some- 
thing more  than  he  has  told  us  ;  and  I  do  not  be 
lieve  that  he  did.  That  he  might  have  been  a 
natural  son  of  Louis  would  be  an  explanation 
which  would  make  resemblance  and  exile  quite 
consistent. 

But  he  was  a  better  than  left  or  right  hand  son 
of  monarchs.  He  answered  me,  when  I  asked  him 
of  the  locality  of  his  parish,  in  the  old  utterance, 
"  My  parish  is  the  world. "  It  was  to  me  a  very 
interesting  meeting  which  I  had  with  him  and  a 
group  of  old  and  quaint  St.  Regis  chiefs,  in  the 
room  of  Mr.  O'Callaghan  in  the  upper  story  of 
the  State  Hall,  surrounded  by  all  that  eminent 
scholar's  histories  and  historical  labors  ;  and  when, 
in  answer  to  inquiries  these  men  would  give  the  old, 
old  names  to  the  city  or  locality  where  we  stood, 
and  called  the  Hudson  River  by  a  name  so  far 
back  that  our  geographers  had  faint  memory  of 
it.  They -were  stout  and  powerful  men,  but  appar- 
ently simple-hearted  men  of  the  quiet  forest  life ; 
and  he  among  them  was  the  superior  who  directed 
them  to  higher  and  happier  and  holier  things. 

Of  the  elder  Adams,  I  heard,  in  Boston,  inter- 
esting anecdotes ;  but  I  think  their  general  im- 
pression on  my  mind  was  that  he  did  not  look  as 


100  WHO    GOES    THERE ? 

serenely  on  all  around  him,  in  his  latter  days,  as 
did  his  contemporaries,  but  was  a  little  cynical  in 
expression.  He  could  illustrate  a  very  impressive 
truth  in  a  quiet  way.  As  when  a  friend  from 
Boston  coining  to  see  him,  while  at  his  own  house 
in  Quincy,  and  while  there  was  a  controversy  ex- 
isting between  him  and  Mr.  Pickering,  —  "  Is  it 
not,"  said  he,  "  a  melancholy  sight  to  see  Mr. 
Pickering  and  myself  sitting  up  in  our  coffins, 
throwing  mud  at  each  other  ?  "  I  know  there  are 
Boston  people,  living  at  the  date  when  these 
sketches  are  written,  who  could  give  most  piquant 
record  of  the  grave  and  gay  sayings  of  this  very 
remarkable  man. 

Was  he  as  remarkable  a  man  as  was  his  distin- 
guished son,  John  Quincy  Adams  ?  I  doubt  it. 
History  will,  at  a  period  not  very  remote,  remove 
the  political  sand  from  the  base  of  this  statue,  and 
it  will  appear  in  all  its  grandeur.  I  saw  him  on 
two  occasions  ;  and,  in  both  of  them,  —  though 
one  was  but  an  ordinary  occurrence  of  life,  —  I 
was  profoundly  impressed.  I  remember  well  the 
oration  which  he  delivered  in  the  Middle  Dutch 
Church,  in  Nassau  street,  now  the  post-office,  on 
the  occasion  of  the  celebration  of  the  fiftieth  anni- 
versary of  the  adoption,  or  inauguration,  of  the 
constitution  of  the  United  States.  There  was,  as 
may  readily  be  supposed,  a  great  crowd  to  enjoy 


WHO    GOES    THERE!  101 

this  voice  of  history,  by  one  who  had  been  so  much 
of,  and  near  to,  all  of  it.  The  crowd  especially 
enjoyed  the  coming  in  of  Winfield  Scott,  in  all  the 
equipage  of  his  full  dress,  as  head  of  the  army. 
That  great  stature  and  overlooking  proportions 
told  admirably  on  the  scenic  effect  of  such  an  en- 
trance ;  and,  for  a  time,  the  attention  of  the  audi- 
ence was  divided  between  the  orator  and  the  sol- 
dier. The  discourse  Mr.  Adams  pronounced  is  of 
the  great  documents  of  our  history.  His  manner 
was  very  earnest  and  commanded  attention. 

The  building  in  which  he  spoke  was,  of  itself,  a 
discourse.  It  had,  and  yet  has,  the  great  walls 
which  our  ancestors  seemed  to  have  judged  neces- 
sary to  bear  a  burthen,  which  the  more  skilful  (or 
more  hazardous)  architects  of  to-day  suspend  on  a 
quarter  of  the  same  thickness.  For  an  American 
building,  it  had  some  dignity  of  age.  It  was  its 
steeple  or  tower  which  is  memorable  as  the  high 
place  to  which  Dr.  Franklin  ascended  when  occu- 
pied with  some  electric  experiments,  on  which  his 
restless  mind  was  engaged,  while  he  was  on  his 
way  to  Albany  to  attend  the  memorable  Union 
convention  of  1754.  It  had  been  a  chosen  and 
favorite  house  of  worship  for  the  old  people  of 
New  York  ;  and  when  it  died  the  decent  death  of 
being  found  territorially  too  valuable  to  be  kept  for 
the  ancient*  associations  and  likings  of  a  few  peo- 


102  WHO    GOES    THERE* 

pie,  the  Rev.  Dr.  DeWitt  uttered  the  parting 
words  of  blessing  in  the  old  language.  It  had 
quaint  usages  but  a  few  years  previous  ;  for  very- 
strange  it  seemed  to  modern  eyes  to  see "  the 
clerk  "  place,  in  a  series  of  blackboards  on  the 
wall,  the  number  of  the  first  psalm  that  was  to  be 
sung,  as  if  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  came  late. 
There  was  a  fitness  in  this  choice  of  a  place  for 
the  utterance  of  Mr.  Adams'  oration  ;  for  the  scene 
which  that  oration  celebrated  was  all  acted  in  real 
life  but  a  brief  distance  from  the  doors  of  the  old 
church.  So  hall  and  orator  were  worthy  of  each 
other ;  and  it  was,  in  all  its  accompaniments, 
one  of  the  great  historical  events  of  our  annals. 

When  I  next  saw  Mr.  Adams,  it  was  at  the 
breakfast- table  in  the  Astor  House.  A  number 
of  years  had  passed ;  but  I  recognized  "  the  rare 
and  picturesque  old  man,"  as  Me  Dowell,  of  Vir- 
ginia, so  beautifully  designated  him,  when  pro- 
nouncing one  of  the  Congressional  eulogies.  He 
seemed  in  good  spirits,  and  immediately  entered 
into  conversation  with  a  gentleman  near  him, 
whom  I  judged,  by  his  words  and  look,  to  be  a 
packet-ship  captain,  —  of  a  class  of  gentlemen 
who  knew  everybody,  and  were  so  often,  for  a 
voyage,  at  least,  master  of  all  around  them,  that 
their  acquaintance  included  everywhere  the  wisest 
and  worthiest. 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  103 

To  my  delight,  their  conversation  took  the 
agreeable  direction  of  a  talk  about  swimming ; 
perhaps  led  thither  by  the  aquatic  association  of 
the  captain.  Mr.  Adams  took  the  lead  at  once, 
and  seemed  quite  pleased  in  alluding  to  his  own 
skill  and  experience  as  a  swimmer ;  and  he  gave 
the  statement  of  his  beginning,  in  words  somewhat 
memorable  :  "  I,"  said  he,  "  learned  to  swim  at 
eleven  years  of  age,  in  Boston  harbor,  alongside 
the  frigate  Alliance,  in  thirty  feet  water" 

It  was  type  of  his  varied  and  momentous  career, 
—  so  often  struggling  alone  in  the  conflicting  tides 
of  public  opinion,  —  that  he  learned  to  swim  in 
deep  water.  The  Alliance,  it  will  be  remembered, 
was  one  of  the  vessels  of  war  that  were  under 
command  of  our  great  naval  hero  of  the  Revolu- 
tion, John  Paul  Jones,  of  whom  Walter  Scott 
says,  that  he  frightened  Edinburgh  out  of  its  wits, 
and  set  "  mine  own  romantic  town  "  to  all  the 
wisdom  of  its  bailies  to  discover  how  they  should 
prevent  his  landing  at  Leith.  This  must  have  been 
just  as  Mr.  Adams  was  going  out  with  his  father  to 
the  latter's  high  diplomatic  service.  Mr.  Adams 
then  went  on  to  tell  his  friend  of  his  swimming 
practice  in  the  Potomac,  every  day,  when  he  was 
President  of  the  United  States.  He  said  this  with 
a  particularity,  which,  in  a  lesser  man,  would  have 
seemed  a  little  like  calling  this  dignified  fact  into 


104  WHO    GOES    THERE  1 

recollection.  I  was  very  much  obliged  to  the  mari- 
ner for  his  presence,  in  thus  leading  Mr.  Adams 
to  talk  about  himself. 

Governor  Bradish  dilated  to  me  on  the  ex- 
traordinary versatility  of  Mr.  Adams'  acquire- 
ments, illustrating  it  by  reference  to  his  having 
seen  him  finish  an  entertainment  of  a  dinner  party 
by  standing  on  the  table  and  reciting  a  French 
play.  But  Charles  King  declared  that  one  thing 
Mr.  Adams  could  not  do,  —  that  was,  write  poetry  ; 
and  that  he  had,  before  this,  been  forced  to  ex- 
press this  opinion  to  him  editorially,  especially  in 
relation  to  the  poem  of  Dermot  McMarrough.  It 
is  quite  likely  that  he  could  not  do  what  is  so  sel- 
dom an  ability  mingled  with  the  qualities  of  a 
statesman.  His  life  was  a  poetic  one,  for  it 
touched  the  varieties  of  human  experience,  except 
that  he  never  seemed  to  have  known  what  it  was 
to  feel  pecuniary  want.  He  was  defeated  and 
almost  proscribed,  and  rose  above  it  writh  an  in- 
creasing fame.  He  saw  about  all  that  was  best  in 
both  the  Old  and  New  World,  knew  the  wisest 
and  greatest  of  all  countries  in  civilization,  and 
died  in  his  duty. 

It  is  a  fact,  not  generally  known,  that  he  visited 
Washington  just  before  going  forth  on  his  diplo- 
matic career,  being  advised  to  do  so.  It  would 
have  been  a  picture  worth  perpetuation,  this  meet- 


WHO    GOES    THERE  1  105 

ing  of  the  keen,  quick,  resolute  young  man,  in  all 
his  consciousness  of  the  value  of  history,  with 
the  grand  old  man,  who,  with  himself,  had  such 
strong  ideas  of  what  a  republic  should  show  itself 
in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  Mr.  Adams  had  very 
little  idea  of  the  arts  of  popularity,  though,  1 
doubt  not,  he  fully  liked  the  thing  itself.  "  How 
can  he  expect  to  be  reflected,"  said  one  of  his 
friends,  "  when  he  gives  you  his  hand  to  shake  as 
stiff  as  a  shingle  ?  " 

That  was  a  memorable  speech  and  occasion  of 
one,  which  was  heard  and  witnessed  by  the  citi- 
zens of  Albany,  when  Mr.  Adams  addressed  an 
impromptu  crowd  from  the  "  stoop  "  (I  must  use 
the  Albany  word)  of  Matthew  Gregory's  house, 
in  the  row  now  absorbed  by  Congress  Hall.  He 
had  felt  that  the  people  of  New  York  moved  with 
him  on  his  journey,  and  he  knew  the  words  which 
were  the  key-note  of  their  heart.  That  speech 
was  admirably  reported  by  Sherman  Croswell,  who 
was  a  master  of  his  art.  Mr.  Adams  defied  and 
outlived  calumny,  and  did  that  wonderful  thing,  — 
he  made  a  lesser  station  the  occasion  of  fame  and 
reputation  to  him  after  he  had  occupied  the 
greater.  He  almost,  more  than  any  other  of  our 
great  men,  could  not  rest  and  did  not  rest.  Learn- 
ing to  swim  in  deep  water,  he  never  sought  the 
safetv  of  the  shallower. 


106  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

While  he  was  President,  there  was  a  party  given 
at  the  White  House,  which  derived  most  of  its 
celebrity  from  some  clever  stanzas,  written  on  its 
occasion,  in  which  the  brilliant  or  distinguished 
people  who  were  likely  to  be  there  were  men- 
tioned, and  whose  refrain  was  long  remembered : 

"  Beaux  and  belles  and  maids  and  madams, 
All  are  gone  to  Mrs.  Adams'." 

I  think  there  was  a  quiet  but  strong  feeling  in 
this  country  very  much  gratified,  when  Charles 
Francis  Adams,  his  son,  received  the  place  of 
Minister  to  England,  as  it  was  a  genealogy  of  dip- 
lomatic service  which  looked  like  stability.  It 
helped  us  to  combat  the  idea,  that,  in  our  country, 
there  is  no  procession  of  talent. 

There  are  few  things  in  our  history  as  remark- 
able as  the  prediction  made  by  Mr.  Adams,  of  the 
consequences  which  would  follow  the  annexation 
of  Texas.  In  years  hence,  when  the  calm  and 
just  historian  (whose  name,  at  this  moment,  hap- 
pens to  be  unknown)  shall  write  our  record,  the 
extraordinary  document,  in  which  the  future  was 
so  portrayed,  will  be  studied  by  every  one. 

He  did  not  write  poetry,  —  Mr.  King  was  right ; 
but  he  sometimes  did  succeed  in  verse  ;  and  the 
most  felicitous  of  all  his  stanzas  are  those  in  which 
he  gives  a  catalogue  of  his  wishes  ;  and  it  is  mo- 
mentous in  their  review,  that  he  seems  to  have 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  107 

been  favored  in  a  degree,  and  not  a  minute  degree, 
with  the  realization  of  all,  —  wealth,  honors,  sta- 
tion, fame,  the  pleasant,  and  even  the  luxurious, 
things  of  life.  While  he  had  to  wait  for  some  of 

o 

these,  at  length  they  came ;  and  he  had,  as  nearly 
as  it  could  be  said  of  any  of  our  public  men,  en- 
joyed, in  the  end,  the  harmony  of  a  completed 
career ;  and  those  publications  which  his  son  is 
editing  will  be  another  wonderful  chapter  in  that 
history. 

He  was  deprived  of  a  reelection  to  the  presi- 
dency for  causes  and  with  consequences,  which,  as 
this  is  not  a  political  history,  it  is  not  for  these 
pages  to  relate.  I  do  not  doubt,  that,  all  his  life, 
he  felt  it  to  be  a  deep  personal  wrong  ;  for  he  was 
conscious  of  having  served  his  country  faithfully, 
and  he  had  seen,  just  before  him,  Mr.  Monroe's 
eight  accorded  years  of  quiet  and  easy  success, 
and  he  knew,  that,  while  Mr.  Monroe  was  a  very 
excellent  man,  himself  had  been  one  of  the  main 
arches  of  his  administration. 

General  Jackson  was  the  new  and  triumphant 
arrival  into  the  presidency.  With  opinions  about 
that  remarkable  man  which  may  be  prejudices,  but 
which,  I  believe,  had  a  foundation  which  the 
calmer  reflection  of  maturer  years  approves,  I  con- 
cede that,  in  the  only  interview  I  ever  had  with 
him,  the  impressfon  was  a  pleasant  one ;  for, 


108  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

although  he  looked  sufficiently  stern  and,  perhaps, 
severe,  yet  he  had  a  courtesy  of  manner,  when  he 
chose  to  exercise  it,  which  was  potential ;  and  I 
have  heard  this  stated,  also,  by  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Campbell,  of  Albany,  who  knew  all  about  him, 
who  di4  not  like  him,  and  who  maintained  against 
him  successfully  a  question  in  his  department  of 
action.  I  can  see  the  old  General  even  yet,  in  his 
room  at  the  White  House,  talking  so  pleasantly 
with  me  about  the  only  topic  on  which  I  happened 
to  know  anything  that  interested  him,  —  the  health 
of  his  friend,  the  Old  Patroon  of  Albany.  When 
I  say,  a  pleasant  manner,  I  mean  gravely  pleasant, 
and,  of  course,  in  dignity.  Mr.  Van  Kleeck,  of 
Albany,  who  might  be  said  to  know  all  mankind, 
was  my  guide  to  the  grandeur  of  the  White 
House. 

Dr.  Campbell's  account  of  him  illustrated  the 
fact  that  he  had  two  lives  going  on  at  the  same 
moment, —  that  of  the  quiet,  remote  man  of  his 
Tennessee  existence,  who  liked  the  small  horizon 
of  his  plantation  and  its  in  and  out  door  inci- 
dents best,  and  his  own  life,  as  possessed  of  a 
great  power,  in  which  he  bore  no  contradiction, 
and  in  which  he  would  express  opinions  which  it 
was  quite  clear  were  rather  of  limited  than  en- 
larged view  of  public  affairs.  But  he  had  the 
confidence  of  the  people  in  a  degree  that  few  oth- 


WHO    GOES    THERE f  100 

ers  have  possessed,  and  the  way  is  not  clear  for  his 
annals  in  their  full  truth  yet.  They  will  be  writ- 
ten when  we  shall  be  possessed  with  the  great  and 
good  idea  that  the  t'ruth  is,  after  all,  the  very 
essence  of  valuable  history. 

I  recollect  being  at  Boston  when  the  news  of 
General  Jackson's  death  arrived  there.  It  seemed 
to  me  to  awaken  very  little  notice.  I  think  the 
administration  of  the  General,  however  important 
at  the  time,  was,  in  its  effects,  much  sooner  effaced 
than  it  was,  in  his  day,  supposed  possible  ;  and  the 
reason  is,  that  it  was  a  personal  administration ; 
and  after  General  Harrison  was  subsequently,  as  a 
successful  soldier,  elected,  that  incident  in  our  his- 
tory was  not  alone. 

When  the  General  was  at  New  York,  a  vast 
crowd  was  gathered  before  the  City  Hall.  He 
looked  out  at  it,  and,  turning  to  Mr.  Hubbell, 
said,  "  There  are  no  nullifiers  there." 

General  Harrison  finishes  the  list  of  the  presi- 
dents who  were  born  before  our  country  ceased  to 
be  a  colony  of  Great  Britain.  His  frontier  life 
had  made  him,  comparatively,  a  stranger  on  the 
seaboard,  and  he  came,  in  1836,  before  the  people 
rather  by  his  history  than  by  any  personal  associa- 
tions. His  death,  after  the  one  month  of  presi- 
dential power,  startled  the  whole  country,  as,  first 
of  all  our  chief  rulers,  he  died  while  in  possession 


110  WHO     GOES    THERE ? 

of  the  first  place.  I  was  told  that  during  the 
month  he  lived  in  the  White  House,  his  hospitality 
and  his  plans  for  hospitality  were  unbounded ; 
that  he  construed  the  welcome  of  the  mansion 
almost  up  to  its  chanted  promises,  and  that  nothing 
could  have  averted  severe  financial  embarrassment. 

I  asked  Mr.  Clay  about  the  General.  "  Ah  !  " 
said  he,  "  he  was  a  good-hearted,  clever  old  gen- 
tleman. When  he  was  preparing  for  his  inaugura- 
tion, he  sent  to  me  his  address,  and  suggested  to 
me  to  erase  anything  in  it  that  I  did  not  approve  ; 
and,  with  this  permission,  I  did  run  my  pencil 
through  some  passages.  Soon  afterward  he  met 
me,  and  said,  '  Mr.  Clay,  I  have  adopted  all  your 
suggestions  except  in  those  paragraphs  that  men- 
tion the  Greeks  and  Romans.  Why,  Mr.  Clay,' 
said  General  H.,  '  when  I  was  in  Congress,  some- 
body was  searching  for  me,  and  looking  into  the 
hall  of  representatives,  could  not  see  me,  but  he 
heard  somebody  making  a  speech,  and  saying 
something  about  the  Greeks  and  Romans.  "  That's 
him  ;  that's  Harrison !  "  said  he.  Mr.  Clay  you 
must  leave  me  those.'  ' 

This  incident,  thus  related  by  such  distinguished 
authority,  proves  that  General  Harrison  had  great 
good  humor  and  great  good  sense. 

There  was  something  grand  in  the  fact  that 
General  Harrison  had  stood  up,  in  Congress,  the 


WHO    GOES    THERE f  111 

sole  representative  of  all  the  great  north-west,  —  a 
grandeur  that  we,  and  those  who  shall  come  after 
us,  shall  best  know  as  we  see  to  what  that  north- 
west has  arisen.  He  was  to  its  civilization  what 
Daniel  Boone  had  been  to  its  barbarism,  the  rep- 
resentation of  that  which  was  to  come, —  the  new 
life,  in  which  the  dominion  of  the  intellectual  over 
the  material  was  to  be  developed. 

General  Harrison's  father-in-law,  John  Cleves 
Symmes,  was  of  the  pioneer  stock ;  but  he  was 
lifted  up  into  the  world's  observation  chiefly  by  the 
theory  which  he  promulgated,  that  this  was  a  hol- 
low world  (and,  in  one  sense,  we  all  believed  and 
yet  believe  him),  enterable  at  the  poles,  and  that 
strange  and  momentous  discoveries  awaited  those 
who  should  find  way  thither,  and  that,  in  some 
way,  the  northern  lights  issued  thence.  On  this 
theme  I  heard  him  lecture  at  the  Uranian  Hall, 
Albany,  and  remember  that,  when  he  read  his 
manuscript,  he  was  prosy  and  dull,  and  that  when 
he  went  off  into  extempore  episodes,  he  was  bright 
and  interesting.  His  ideas  had  plausible  place  in 
their  day  of  utterance,  and  encountered  what  has 
been  the  fate  of  all  projectors,  the  semi-ridicule, 
semi-illustration  of  a  book  called  Symzonia,  in 
which  the  visit  inter-spherical  was,  with  vivid  ad- 
ventures, accomplished.  His  theory  at  last  melted 
away  like  the  stories  of  the  Arcadia  or  the  south- 
ern continent. 


112  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

General  Harrison's  name,  in  its  political  sobri- 
quet of  "  Tippecanoe,"  exercised  the  vocal  powers 
of  more  men  than  this  country  has  ever  before  or 
since  found  with  will  or  capacity  for  song.  As,  in 
this  volume,  political  history  is  only  incidentally 
introduced,  this  theme  of  the  great  song  of  1840 
may  but  be  glanced  at.  Its  refrain  was  heard  in 
all  varieties  of  human  intercourse,  and  a  stranger 
then  for  the  first  time  coming  among  us  would 
have  believed  that  the  reputation  of  Germany,  for 
popular  singing  —  I  may  not  say  melody  —  had 
found  formidable  rivalry. 

How  many  side-lights  were  thrown  amidst  the 
scholars  of  the  old  days  of  our  French  war  and 
Revolution,  by  the  conversation  of  the  old  men  and 
the  old  soldiers,  who,  rising  to  no  special  rank  or 
place,  told  us  of  the  curious  people  that  they  had 
known,  or  the  curious  scenes  in  which  they  had 
intermingled.  I  use  the  word  French  war  to 
designate  the  period  in  which  our  ancestors  thought 
that  their  very  existence  was  bound  up  in  main- 
taining the  supremacy  of  England's  power  over 
that  of  the  Bourbons ;  and,  as  the  great  questions 
of  government  and  of  right  really  were  in  that  day, 
their  action  was  correct.  It  is  a  singular  incident 

O 

that  General  Washington  did  not  designate  the 
war  in  which  we  achieved  independence,  by  the 
term  in  which  it  was  always  named,  —  the  Revo- 


WHO    GOES    THERE f  113 

lution,  —  but  as,  "our  dispute  with  Great  Brit- 
ain." 

Even  as  late  as  1810,  a  meeting  was  called  of 
"  all  officers  and  soldiers  who  served  one  or  more 
campaigns  in  the  old  French  war,"  "  to  petition 
Congress  for  the  recovery  of  our  rights."  Alas  for 
the  chance  of  the  rights  that  had  waited  from  1754 
till  1810  !  This  meeting  was  probably  got  up  by  a 
Henry  Watkins,  who  served  in  the  French  war, 
was  present  at  the  siege  of  the  Moro  Castle,  and 
escaped  being  blown  up  by  being  absent  on  an 
errand,  served  in  the  revolutionary  war,  and 
made  a  show  of  going  out  in  the  war  of  1812. 
A  campaigner  of  such  varied  experiences  might 
be  excused  for  holding  on  to  his  right  of  recovery. 

It  must  be  recollected  that  our  ancestors  'made 
up  their  record  of  life  in  a  country  where  they  had 
all  the  eventful  variety  of  circumstance  %that  could 
come  to  them,  placed  midway  between  their  neces- 
sary entanglement  with  the  dissensions  of  Europe, 
—  very  far  off  quarrels,  imperfectly  understood,  and 
not  the  less  eagerly  championed,  —  and  the  barbar- 
ism which  in  the  guise  of  the  yet  somewhat  power- 
ful Indian  tribes  gave  them  continual  annoyance 
and  trouble.  The  open,  square,  broad  warfare  of  all 
that  civilization  can  present,  warring  against  itself, 
they  did  not  know.  To  them  the  forest  was  the 
representative  of  a  treacherous  friend  and  vindic- 
8 


114  WHO    GOES    THERE f 

live  enemy  ;  and  the  sea  was  the  messenger  of 
alarm  as  often  as  the  old  dynasties  of  Europe  min- 
istered to  their  ambition  by  war. 

A  letter  is  before  me  from  a  Major-General  in 
the  revolutionary  army,  dated  1780,  which  shows 
how,  as  face  answereth  unto  face  in  a  mirror,  do 
the  features  of  a  great  war  find  resemblance.  In 
this  letter  we  can  see  the  mastery  of  gold  over  all 
transactions  at  all  times.  The  perplexed  General 
is  writing  to  an  officer  in  the  department  of  the 
Commissary-General,  and  he  says :  u  The  unex- 
pected disappointments  met  with  from  every  quar- 
ter from  which  I  expected  supplies  are  likely  to  be 
attended  with  the  worst  consequences,  and  call 
upon  us  to  repeat  and  redouble  our  exertions. 
The  occasion  of  all  these  disappointments  is  said 
by  all  to  be  the  want  of  money  in  the  purchasing 
departments,  which  the  purchasers  say  has  not 
only  put  it  out  of  their  power  to  make  sufficient 
contracts,  but  has  also  prevented  their  sending  up 
the  small  stock  of  supplies  they  have  been  able  to 
preserve.  I  am  therefore  compelled,  in  order  to 
relieve  the  pressing  necessities  of  the  army,  to  fall 
upon  a  measure  extraordinary  perhaps  in  its  nature, 
but  rendered  by  that  necessity  unavoidable.  We 
will  therefore  endeavor  to  contract  for  the  supplies 
necessary  for  the  support  of  this  department  upon 
the  following  terms.  You  will  purchase  the  sup- 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  U5 

plies  at  the  cheapest  price  possible  for  hard  money 
to  be  paid  October  1 ;  and  if  it  cannot  be  paid  in 
coin  at  that  time,  you  may  engage  that  those  of 
whom  you  purchase  shall  be  paid  in  paper  money 
in  the  proportion  it  bears  to  gold  and  silver  at 
the  time  of  payment,  so  that  there  shall  be  no  loss 
by  depreciation  ;  and  you  may  assure  them  that 
rather  than  that  there  should  be  any  failure  the 
public  property  should  be  sold." 

And  thus  we  find  our  fathers,  in  the  dark  and 
"  hard  winter "  time  of  1780,  reading  the  same 
page  of  finance  that  later  years  have  read  to  their 
descendants. 

I  met  an  old  soldier,  by  the  name  of  Parks,  who, 
in  1847,  stated  himself  as  one  hundred  and  five 
years  old ;  but  that  was  not  so.  He  was  only 
ninety-seven,  if  I  may  use  the  word  only  of  lon- 
gevity like  that.  He  told  us  of  his  perilous  adven- 
tures in  the  Sullivan  campaign,  —  a  wild  series  of 
adventures,  in  regard  to  which  the  stories  are  free 
to  ally  themselves  with  white  man  or  Indian,  ac- 
cording to  the  information  or  imagination  of  the 
narrator.  The  old  man  illustrated  the  want  of 
material  for  long  marching,  which  embarrassed  the 
armies  of  those  days,  by  his  recital  of  his  being 
compelled  to  wade  across  one  of  the  lakes.  He 
told  me  of  his  memory  of  the  effect  of  the  earth- 
quake of  1755,  —  that  great  trembling  of  the  earth 


116  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

in  which  the  dread  catastrophe  of  Lisbon  occurred ; 
of  the  shaking  of  the  little  diamond  panes  of  glass 
in  the  windows,  —  and  this  was  doubtless  true,  for 
so  much  of  it  was  experienced  in  North  America. 

Major  Adam  Hoops,  a  choice  relic  of  the  revo- 
lutionary officer,  prompt,  erect  and  decided,  had 
been  an  aid  of  Sullivan,  and  lived  to  see  the  har- 
vests of  the  white  man  smile,  where  he  and  those 
with  him  had  devastated  all  that  the  Indian  had 
cultured.  He  had  a  very  different  idea  of  Brandt's 
history  from  that  given  by  Mr.  Stone's  Life  of 
the  famed  Thayandenagea. 

How  strangely  in  the  loom  of  life  the  hands  of 
war  and  peace  —  red  as  is  one  and  white  as  is  the 
other — grasp  together  in  Progress.  An  old  bat- 
teau  or  flat-boat  used  by  that  invading  army  in 
the  tortuous  and  perilous  voyage  down  the  Susque- 
hanna,  was,  as  it  was  left  to  decay,  taken  to  the 
Seneca  and  then  to  Cayuga,  by  those  who  went 
thither  to  make  the  "  settlement." 

In  their  trip  on  the  Seneca,  they  passed  over  a 
route  which  another  journey  has  made  more 
famous. 

He  who  kept  the  French  throne  warm  for  the 
completion  of  the  time  when  "  the  empire  "  should 
be  ready  for  u  the  nephew  of  his  uncle,"  was  once, 
like  that  nephew,  a  wanderer  in  our  own  land, 
taking  a  larger  circle  of  travel,  however,  than  the 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  117 

more  concentrated,  silent  man,  who  waited  and 
waited,  and  won  at  last.  *  Louis  Philippe  had  been 
at  Canandaigua,  the  guest  of  Thomas  Morris,  —  a 
man  himself  always  memorable,  and  whose  very 
lovely  wife  —  of  the  beautiful  Kane  family  —  I 
saw,  as  a  widow,  in  1843,  at  Boston  ;  and,  as  illus- 
trating the  rise  of  the  country,  this  lovely  lady 
told  me  that  her  bridal  journey  was  on  horseback 
to  Canandaigua.  Thomas  Morris  was,  in  after 
life,  a  favorite  guest  of  John  Jacob  Astor,  and  his 
conversation  did  much  to  enliven  that  table. 

Mr.  Morris  gave  letters  to  a  citizen  of  Elmira, 
which  was  called  at  that  time,  by  a  great  poverty 
of  variety  in  nomenclature,  Newtown.  George 
Mills,  of  the  Chemung  low  country,  who  was  liv- 
ing in  1848,  remembered  the  royal  Frenchman. 
He  had  come  from  Geneva,  down  the  Seneca  lake, 
in  a  schooner,  just  built  by  the  Captain  William- 
son who,  at  one  time,  had  thought  of  buying  all 
the  country  which  is  now  Ohio.  Louis  Philippe 
took  the  journey  from  the  head  of  Seneca  lake  to 
Elmira ;  and  it  was  good  taste  to  do  so,  for  a  love- 
lier land  seldom  the  sun  elsewhere  looks  upon. 
At  Elmira,  the  travellers  took  a  boat  down  the 
Susquehanna,  stopping,  I  suppose,  to  refresh  him- 
self with  his  own  language  at  Frenchtown. 

A  few  years  since,  Mr.  Brodhead,  the  accom- 
plished historian,  procured  for  me  a  map  of  the 


118  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

king's  route,  approved  by  the  king  himself,  which 
I  gave  to  one  of  the  stetlmboat  proprietors  of  the 
Seneca  lake.  Time  gives  value  to  these  authentic 
illustrations  of  history,  when  the  record  of  the  life 
of  the  rulers  of  men  becomes  all  that  is  preserved 
of  the  annals  of  the  ages. 

One  by  one  I  have  seen  —  and  seen  with  sor- 
row —  our  people  demolish  the  physical  structures 
that  were  evidences  in  the  stories  of  the  past.  To 
the  miserable  narrowness  or  indifference  of  public 
sentiment  that  permitted  John  Hancock's  house  to 
be  sacrificed,  I  have  already  alluded;  and  that  is 
but  one  of  many.  The  grounds  of  old  battle- 
fields, which  might  have  been  preserved  as  public 
property,  have  been  unnecessarily  levelled.  In 
that  wonderful  city,  Chicago,  the  block-house  was 
the  type  of  its  youth.  It  told,  better  than  statis- 
tics, what  sudden  life  had  come  to  that  lap  of  the 
lakes,  and  yet,  down  it  went !  So  did  Fort  Stan- 
wix  ;  and  it  is  questionable  if  our  eyes  would  yet 
be  rejoicing  in  the  picturesque  ruins  of  Ticonder- 
oga,  but  that  the  golden  step  of  fashion-travel  led 
that  way,  and  what,  in  other  places,  had  been  de- 
nied to  history,  was  there  preserved  to  gain. 

The  Declaration  of  Independence  was  first  read 
to  the  citizens  of  Albany  by  Matthew  Visscher, 
standing  in  front  of  the  then  City  Hall,  at  the 
north-east  corner  of  Court  (South  Broadway)  and 


WHO    GOES    THERE  1  119 

Hudson  street.  The  gathering  was  tumultuous, 
because  there  was  a  popular  belief  that  the  read- 
ing was  to  be  prevented  by  the  inroad  of  those 
who,  as  yet,  adhered  to  the  old  government. 

Now  such  a  scene  as  that  was,  deserves,  in  the 
annals  of  an  ancient  city,  some  local  remem- 
brance ;  for  this  aid  to  memory  is  old  as  the  stones 
set  up  for  the  swellings  of  Jordan.  As  our  coun- 
try grows  old,  very  old,  all  these  incidents  will  be 
sought  for,  and  sometimes  with  utterly  false  results. 
I  have  made  one  of  a  formal  and  elaborate  proces- 
sion to  the  Rock  of  Plymouth,  when  all  that  I 
could  see  or  find  of  it  was  a  small  remainder,  more 
than  half  hid  in  the  debris  of  a  commercial  wharf,  and 
another  piece  broken  off  and  carried  "  up  street." 

The  field  of  Runnymede,  which  clarifies  so 
many  perorations  in  speeches  about  wresting 
our  liberty  and  our  rights  out  of  the  hands  of  ty- 
rants, is  even  yet,  so  some  one  recently  told  me,  a 
tilled  field ;  and  that  the  Old  World  has  set  all 
such  associations  in  the  crystal  of  song  and  story 
is,  at  this  hour,  the  occasion  of  the  journey  thither 
of  thousands.  Our  metropolis  has  neglected  its 
treasure  of  historical  association.  They  have 
passed  away,  one  by  one  ;  and  now,  all  that  we 
can  do  is  to  admire  the  good  work  by  which  the 
Historical  Society,  like  Old  Mortality,  regraves 
the  words  on  crumbling  stone,  too  often  amidst  the 
mist  of  doubt,  that  neglect  alone  has  raised. 


120  WHO    GOES    THERE* 

The  voice  of  the  wise  man  tells  us  not  to  say- 
that  the  former  days  were  better  than  these ;  and  I 
obey  the  counsel,  as  well  I  may.  The  age  of  prog- 
ress and  prosperity  in  which  we  live  is  indeed 
far  better  for  all  the  material,  and,  perhaps,  for  all 
the  mental,  interest  of  man.  Far  more  snloothly 
and  sweetly,  in  our  day  of  peace,  the  stream  of 
our  life  moves  on  ;  but  so  much  the  more  do  we 
enjoy  the  contrast  of  the  tumultuous  and  bold 
scenes,  in  which  the  ancient  colonies,  with  all  their 
romance  of  loyalty  to  crowns  and  dynasties,  to  old 
families  and  to  ancestral  names,  became  new  and 
powerful  states,  known  in  their  own  .name  and 
own  right  to  the  earth.  We  feel  all  this  the 
keener,  as  in  the  stormy  day  of  the  winter  the 
luxury  of  the  home-hearth  is  brightest. 

I  have  detained  my  reader,  over  repeated  apolo- 
gies, for  so  long,  by  the  side  of  these  days,  reluc- 
tant to  leave  them.  They  are  pictures  not  again 
to  be  painted,  —  dramas  not  again  to  be  acted. 
When  again  shall  any  man  arise  among  us,  in 
whom  it  would  be  in  the  recognized  fitness  of 
things  that  we  should  see  him,  as  Washington 
was  seen  when  he  delivered  his  inaugural  address, 
"  dressed  in  a  full  suit  of  the  richest  black  velvet, 
with  diamond  knee-buckles  and  square,  silver 
buckles  set  upon  shoes  japanned  with  the  most 
scrupulous  neatness,  black  silk  stockings,  his  shirt 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  121 

ruffled  at  breast  and  wrists,  a  light  dress  sword,  his 
hair  powdered,"  and  thus  uttering  to  Congress  and 
the  people  the  words  of  a  purity  and  a  patriotism, 
in  whose  truth  they  all  believed. 

Do  we  often  think  how,  in  the  strange  things  of 
history,  it  was,  that  Washington  died  just  at  the 
close  —  the  closing  days,  of  the  old  century,  as  if 
time  had  no  work  for  him  in  that  new  and  won- 
derful volume  which  it  opened  on  the  first  day  of 
January,  1800  ?  The  pilot  left  the  helm  just  as 
the  stormy  election  of  that  year  was  to  agitate  the 
sea  of  affairs,  and  he  was  spared  the  delicate  diffi- 
culties which  surrounded  a  man  who  had  united 
all  hearts. 

A  few  years  passed  away,  and  the  slow  dignity 
of  the  old  ways  saw  its  decadence  in  the  success  of 
Mr.  Fulton's  efforts  to  make  steam  the  servant  of 
the  wants  of  man.  I  heard  the  recollections  of 
two  very  interesting  companions,  in  different 
spheres  of  action,  of  Mr.  Fulton.  Judge  Wilson, 
of  Albany,  was  of  those  who  accompanied  him  in 
the  first  of  all  his  Hudson  River  voyages.  A 
Quaker  friend  remonstrated  with  Mr.  Wilson  on 
trusting  himself  with  "  such  a  wild  fowl  "  as  this 
most  absurd  structure  was  believed  to  be  by  all 
practical  people.  But  those  who  had  essayed  to 
follow  Fulton  in  this  bold  movement  were  not  to 
be  kept  off  by  ridicule  ;  and  to  his  imperfect  and 


122  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

rude  boat  they  went,  and  off  it  went,  and  it 
stopped,  and  the  crowd  on  the  wharf  jeered,  and 
Fulton  felt  as  if  the  laugh  touched  his  inmost 
heart  by  its  sarcasm  ;  but  he  believed  in  the  might 
of  the  bubbling  steam,  and  his  boat  went  on,  and 
—  the  new  chapter  in  the  world's  history  was 
plainly  to  be  read  on  the  Hudson  River. 

In  1851,  that  extraordinary  "  excursion  "  was 
madey  in  which  the  liberality  of  the  Chicago  and 
Rock  Island  Railroad  Company  displayed  to  a  thou- 
sand guests  the  grandeur,  and  not  less,  the  beauty, 
of  the  Upper  Mississippi.  Such  hospitality  was 
beyond  the  old  stories  of  the  princely  entertain- 
ments of  Blenheim  and  Chatworth. 

Of  all  that  we  saw,  we  saw  most  and  best  the 
river,  the  Mississippi.  I  recollect  that  we  gave 
cheers  as  we  came  in  sight  of  it.  The  river,  the 
river,  its  exquisite,  park-like  scenery,  those  bluffs, 
in  beauty  beyond  our  dreamings,  so  calm  and  ma- 
jestic, so  varied  in  every  mile  of  its  magnificent 
progress,  —  it  has  neither  parallel  nor  rival.  And 
this  proud  river  we  had  ascended  quietly  and  re- 
sistlessly,  overcoming  its  rapids,  conquering  its  cur- 
rents, pressing  on,  as  though  our  course  was  over  a 
smooth  lake ;  and  we  owed  this  to  the  genius  of 
Robert  Fulton.  And  this  great  triumph  was  wit- 
nessed by  one  who  had  been  his  chosen,  his  inti- 
mate friend,  —  Mr.  Waldo,  a  name  known  to  all 


WHO    GOES   THERE*  123 

familiar  with  the  history  of  American  painters. 
A  very  pleasant  old  artist  he  was,  of  cultivation 
and  taste  and  kindly  manner,  bright  faculties,  and 
active  mind.  He  had  been  the  companion  and  fel- 
low-scholar of  Fulton.  While  together,  they  pur- 
sued the  study  of  painting  under  the  tuition  of 
Benjamin  West,  the  president  of  the  Royal  Acad- 
emy. While  engaged  in  the  task  of  the  painter, 
the  mind  of  Fulton  was  occupied  with  the  steam- 
engine.  It  was  building  in  mental  fabric,  shaft, 
valve,  cylinder,  in  his  brain,  and  he  looked  for- 
ward to  a  nobler  success.  He  told  Mr.  Waldo 
that  the  great  triumph  for  him  would  be  the  use 
of  the  steamboat  on  the  Mississippi.  There,  he 
said,  was  to  be  the  scene  of  his  victory. 

And  yet  Fulton  thought  that  he  was  greatest  in 
the  fact  that  he  had,  as  he  thought,  invented  a  sure 
instrument  of  destruction  of  hostile  ships,  by  his 
submarine  torpedo.  So  strangely  inaccurate  are 
men  in  determining  even  their  own  fame. 

Chancellor  Livingston,  who  was  the  friend  and 
fellow- owner  of  the  Fulton  grant,  it  is  said,  after 
the  introduction  of  other  boats  than  their  own, 
would  not  go  to  New  York  except  by  coach  or 
carriage.  It  was  a  monstrous  wrong  in  this  State, 
that  it  did  not  stand  by  Fulton's  exclusive  right 
when  it  was  attacked  in  processes  of  law.  It  is 
but  a  synonym  of  the  word  just,  that  the  word 


124  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

"  exclusive  "  was  used.  What  inventor  ever  de- 
served reward,  if  this  man  did  not?  And 
although  there  may  be  ever  so  many  finicalities  of 
reasoning,  —  that  somebody,  prior  to  him,  knew  that 
steam  had  power,  —  it  was  his  heart  that  dared,  and 
his  hand  that  ventured,  the  application  of  the 
power  to  great  practical  use.  Steamboats,  that 
could  move  against  wind  and  tide,  —  those  were  the 
things  accomplished  by  Fulton.  I  heard  a  brief 
word  of  the  argument  in  the  Court  of  Errors, 
when  Thomas  Addis  Emmet  was  heard  for  the 
heirs  of  Fulton.  It  was  in  this  argument,  that  he 
interwove  with  his  reasoning  a  pleasantry  ;  for  I 
suppose  the  characteristic  fancy  of  his  country  did 
not  desert  him  in  his  exile.  "  They  tell  you," 
said  he,  "  that  this  is  a  coasting  question  "  (the 
assertion  on  the  other  side  was  that  New  York 
had  no  power  to  grant  a  privilege  affecting  a  coast- 
ing voyage)  ;  "  but  I  say,  that  you  might  rather 
call  it,  as  far  as  our  own  Hudson  river  is  con- 
cerned, a  banking  question.'* 

The  heirs  of  Robert  Fulton,  since  his  life  was 
too  brief  for  the  enjoyment  of  the  reward  himself, 
ought  to  have  been  as  opulent  as  the  nation  could 
have  made  its  greatest  benefactor.  I  remember  to 
have  been  a  witness,  in  1828,  or  thereabout,  to  a 
grant  by  Morgan  Lewis,  acting  for  the  representa- 
tives of  so  much  of  the  franchise  as  was  yet  left  to 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  125 

them,  of  the  right,  till  1836,  to  navigate  one  of 
the  interior  lakes  of  New  York,  where  the  tide  did 
not  give  "  national  "  jurisdiction. 

The  history  of  the  progress  of  steam-navigation 
in  this  country,  from  Fitch's  rude  paddle-boat  to 
the  grandeur  of  the  St.  John,  would  be,  of  itself, 
a  pleasant  and  valuable  volume  :  but  that  is  not  in 
the  plan  of  this  book.  Yet  it  is  illustrative  of  the 
taste  of  the  leading  men  of  the  period,  or  illustra- 
tive of  the  general  education  and  influences,  to  no- 
tice what  were  the  names  or  designation  of  the 
very  earliest  boats.  In  official  advertisements,  as 
late  as  1808  and  1809  (the  navigation  beginning 
in  1807),  the  owners  designate  their  vessel  yet  as 
the  steamboat.  First  of  all,  came  courtesies  to  the 
distinguished  Livingston,  who  had  associated  him- 
self with  the  inventor,  and  Clermont,  his  manor- 
house,  and  the  Chancellor,  his  erminial  title ;  and, 
after  that,  something  of  an  ornate  fancy,  —  the 
Paragon  and  the  Car  of  Neptune,  —  flights  of  the 
imagination  which  must  have  bewildered  the  plain 
people  of  that  day  ;  and  then,  the  indication  of 
the  widely-diffused  feeling  in  respect  to  a  then 
recent,  terrible  calamity,  the  destruction  by  fire 
of  the  Theatre  at  Richmond,  in  a  boat  bearing 
that  city's  name. 

Some  old  Indian's  strange  name,  —  Walk-in- 
the-water,  heralded  the  steam  voyages  on  Lake 


126  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

Erie,  with  that  of  the  great  man  of  the  west,  — 
Henry  Clay  ;  and  all  American  use  of  steam  as  a 
power  on  the  ocean  was  led  by  a  vessel  bearing  the 
name  of  one  of  the  southern  cities,  —  Savannah. 

In  these  names,  we  can  read  rather  of  the  local, 
than  wide-spread  or  national,  attention  to  the  en- 
terprise, at  the  time  of  its  inception.  In  1784, 
General  Washington  expressed  himself  as  having 
been,  to  that  time,  a  disbeliever  in  the  ability  of 
steam-power  to  overcome  wind  and  current  or 
tide  ;  but  he  concedes  that  Mr.  Rumsey's  power, 
then  shown  to  him,  has  induced  him  to  think  that 
it  may  be  done.  He  did  not  dream  that  every 
sea,  lake,  and  river  would  possess  steamboats 
bearing,  as  their  proudest  designation,  his  own 
name. 

De  Witt  Clinton's  admirable  personal  appearance 
is  strongly  impressed  on  my  memory.  Indeed,  it 
remains  as  a  page  of  singular  dignity  and  courtli- 
ness in  life's  recollections,  seeing  the  manner  in 
which  he  bowed  to  some  ladies  whom  he  met  in 
State  street,  —  the  hat  completely  off,  and  the 
homage  such  as,  from  Clinton,  any  lady  might  have 
given  charming  acknowledgment.  Prefacing  a 
notice  of  Governor  Clinton  by  allusion  to  his 
courtesy  might  not  be  truthful  indication  of  his 
general  characteristics  ;  but  of  this  I  could  only 
give  the  testimony  of  two  very  differing  witnesses, 


WHO    GOES    THERE*  127 

both  his  abiding  personal  friends,  and  intimate 
with  and  thoroughly  appreciative  of  him.  Indeed, 
it  was  interesting  to  me  to  see  how  really  great 
men  such  as,  beyond  all  contradiction,  were  John 
C.  Spencer  and  Dr.  T.  Romeyn  Beck,  could  have 
taken  such  opposite  views  of  one  man. 

Dr.  Beck  said,  Clinton  delighted  to  say  cutting 
things  to  people  around  him,  —  things  that  hurt 
them ;  but  Mr.  Spencer  said  he  thought  the  doc- 
tor in  error,  that  Clinton  was  not  a  rude  or  sarcas- 
tic man,  but  that  he  had  a  great  fondness  for  joking 
men,  or,  as  the  phrase  is,  for  running  them ;  and 
this  was  misconstrued  as  being  sarcastic.  Dr. 
Beck  thought  Clinton  joked  very  hard,  if  it  was  all 
joke,  and  he  doubted  if  Mr.  Spencer  was  as  likely 
as  himself  to  know  Clinton  in  familiarity. 

I  think  it  was  the  opinion  of  the  time  that  Gov- 
ernor Clinton  did  not  possess  what  is  characterized 
as  popular  manners ;  but,  in  the  face  of  all  this, 
none  of  the  great  men  of  our  State  were  ever  so 
personally  popular.  Even  the  charming  manners 
of  Governor  Tompkins,  whose  way  of  talking  to 
men  and  talking  with  them,  sent  them  from  him 
delighted,  even  if  all  this  pleasantness  had  con- 
tained a  negative  to  their  requests,  even  he  could 
not  concentrate  to  himself  and  on  himself  the  favor 
of  the  people.  It  was  thought  that  Clinton  did 
not  always  receive  kindly  or  rather  welcome  kindly 


128  WHO    GOES    THERE* 

the  very  efforts  to  aid  him  in  his  wishes  or  his  af- 
fairs ;  but  he  had  friends  the  most  earnest  and  de- 
voted, and  was  sustained  in  all  circumstances  and 
above  all  circumstances.  This  is  the  end  of  pop- 
ularity, if  it  is  not  its  way. 

His  party  might  and  did  go  to  wreck  around 
him ;  but  he  stood  up  and  triumphant  amidst  that 
wreck.  The  truth  is,  he  was  believed  by  the  peo- 
ple to  be,  as  he  indeed  was,  a  very  great  man ; 
and  the  people  felt  that  pride  in  their  possession  of 
such  a  man  that  they  did  not  ask  of  him  the  per- 
petual step  forward  that  seems  necessary  to  the 
preservation  of  lesser  men.  Wherever  the  man 
of  power,  the  man  of  government  was  to  indicate 
himself,  in  all  personal  public  position,  there  Gov- 
ernor Clinton  was  superb.  I  saw  him  in  the 
midst  of  that  which  to  him  was  of  the  greatest  of 
triumphs,  for  it  was  the  success  of  his  own  predic- 
tions of  success,  long  adhered  to,  long  maintained, 
against  all  forms  of  sarcasm  and  ridicule  and  oblo- 
quy. It  was  when  he  stood  on  the  deck  of  the 
canal  boat,  —  either  the  Seneca  Chief  or  the 
Young  Lion  of  the  West,  —  and  entered  the  Hud- 
son River  in  the  great  opening  day  of  the  canals. 
There,  surrounded  by  a  group  of  the  gentlemen  of 
the  chief  cities-  of  the  seaboard  and  the  towns  of 
Western  New  York,  he  was  the  man  to  whom  all 
looked  ;  and  although  the  highway  bore  the  offi- 


WHO    GOES    THREES  129 

cial  designation  of  the  Erie  Canal,  it  was  the  pop- 
ular judgment,  and  they  were  right,  that  it  should 
be  known  as  the  Clinton  Canal.  To  him  that  day 
was  the  proof  that  he  was  right  as  well  as  bold, 
when  he  had  pledged  his  political  existence  in  the 
fact  that  a  route  of  internal .  navigation  from  the 
lakes  to  tide-water  could  be  accomplished,  and 
that  it  was  a  revolution  in  the  progress  of  the  State 
of  New  York  and  of  the  great  domain  then  just 
opening,  which  was  known  in  the  vague  grandeur 
of  word  as  the  West.  The.  people  exulted  in  look- 
ing at  him  ;  and  the  great  pageant  of  that  era  had 
as  its  grandest  feature  the  presence  of  De  Witt 
Clinton.  It  was  a  lordly  time  throughout.  The 
progress  was  a  scene  of  earnest  rejoicing,  for  it 
told  to  all  that  the  prosperity  of  the  country  re- 
ceived new  impulses  from  those  hours. 

Arches  were  built,  and  all  that  the  imperfect 
condition  of  decorative  art  could  suggest  was 
adopted  to  indicate  the  public  festivity.  Greatest 
of  all  was  the  aquatic  procession,  the  flotilla  of 
steamboats  in  which  Clinton  proceeded  in  his  jour- 
ney to  the  ocean.  We  were  to  know  the  very 
moment  of  the  mingling  of  the  waters  of  the  Erie 
with  the  Atlantic  by  a  common  telegraph  ;  for 
Mr.  Morse  in  those  days  was  thinking  most  of  the 
tints  he  was  placing  on  canvas,  and  this  new 
voice  of  electricity,  which  to-day  is  talking  all  the 


130  WHO    GOES    THERE* 

wide  world  around,  had  not  been  evoked  by  sci- 
ence. The  cannon  were  placed  so  near  to  each 
other  that  from  Sandy  Hook  to  Buffalo,  sound 
should  blend  with  sound,  and,  quick  as  it  could 
travel,  Buffalo  should  know  that  the  waters  were 
one.  I  listened  in  earnest  expectation  to  hear 
the  southern  report  which  should  be  the  signal  for 
the  Albany  gun  oh  the  pier  to  communicate  the 
news  to  north  and  west ;  but  I  believe  I  did  not 
hear  it.  Nevertheless,  the  gunner  having  his  time- 
table and  knowing  when  he  ought  to  have  heard 
by  that,  believed,  as  in  Prussia,  that  all  things  are 
regulated,  arid  let  his  cannon  speak.  To-day  San 
Francisco  might  hear  before  the  vase  was  dry  from 
which  the  water  was  poured. 

And  yet  attached  to  and  identified  with  the 
great  canal  system  as  was  Governor  Clinton,  he 
saw  clearly  what  was  to  be  the  use  and  preemi- 
nence of  railways.  There  was  a  small  model  of  a 
railway  in  the  executive  room  at  Albany,  and  he 
led  one  of  the  members  of  Assembly  from  a  western 
county  to  it,  and  said  to  him,  "  Here,  sir,  is  the 
way  in  which  you  are  yet  to  reach  this  city." 

To  appreciate  fully  what  was  Clinton's  exultation 
at  being-  the  master  figure  in  the  scene  of  the 
canal's  triumph  in  completion,  we  must  have  stood 
with  him  in  that  day  at  Rome,  so  many  years  pre- 
vious, when  he  saw  and  participated  in  the  re- 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  131 

moval  of  the  first  earth  for  the  work,  —  a  shovel- 
ful of  dirt  taken  from  a  field  near  the  decaying  ram- 
parts of  old  Fort  Stanwix.  There  was  a  grandeur  of 
self-reliance  in  believing  that  to  be  the  new  token 
of  a  completed  river  over  all  the  very  long  distance 
that  separated  Lake  Erie  and  the  Hudson  River. 

I  saw  him  when  his  appearance,  from  the  pecu- 
liar condition  of  the  public  mind,  elicited  great 
attention.  It  was  when  he,  in  company  with  the 
Patroon,  headed  a  procession  of  the  order  of  free- 
masons, garnished  and  glittering  in  the  regalia  of 
the  brethren. 

I  recollect  that  I  was  employed  by  a  friend  of 
his  to  make  a  copy  of  his  last  message  to  the  Legis- 
lature of  New  York,  and  that  the  introductory 
words,  as  he  wrote  them,  were,  "  Fellow-citizens 
of  the  Senate  and  House  of  Representatives,"  as 
if  he  had,  at  the  moment,  been  thinking  of  Con- 
gress, and  then  he  had  erased  "  of  Representa- 
tives," and  substituted  the  proper  form  of  "  As- 
sembly." He  was  so  kind  as  to  approve  the  man- 
ner in  which  the  copy  was  made  ;  and  I  remember, 
in  his  note  so  stating,  he  used  a  word  which  was 
then  unusual,  and  which  then  seemed  to  me  quite 
in  the  dignities, —  "  the  ehirography  is  good." 

No  one  who  was  in  Albany  at  the  time  can 
forget  the  evening  of  his  death ,  or  the  occasion  and 
day  of  his  funeral.  I  was  sitting  in  a  public  read- 


132  WHO    GOES    THERE* 

ing-room  at  the  time, —  the  evening  of  the  llth  of 
February,  1828, —  and  a  gentleman  entered,  hur- 
riedly saying,  "  He  is  dead ! "  We  did  not  need 
explanation  or  further  comment  to  know  to  whom 
this  referred.  We  felt  it  must  be  Clinton  ;  and  as 
the  tidings  of  his  sudden  departure  spread,  the 
feeling  was  absorbing.  I  have  never,  on  any 
other  occasion  of  public  loss,  witnessed  any  such 
deep,  earnest,  pervading  grief  as  was  felt  in  rela- 
tion to  his  death.  It  was  the  sudden  going  out  of 
a  great  light, —  the  sharply  quick  closing  of  a  great 
career,  in  which  all  were  interested  ;  for  it  seemed 
to  be  a  universal  opinion  that  the  tide  was  rising 
which  was,  beyond  all  doubt,  to  bear  him  to  the 
presidency  ;  as,  indeed,  much  of  the  friendly  feel- 
ing to  General  Jackson  covered,  as  its  strongest 
element,  the  belief  that  Governor  Clinton  was  to 
be  at  his  side  and  his  successor. 

His  remains  were  laid  out  in  state,  as  I  think  it 
may  not  improperly  be  designated  in  this  instance, 
and  there  was  a  great  concourse  of  people,  who 
moved  around  the  coffin,  gazing  at  his  face.  I 
recollect  being  impressed  with  the  simplicity  of  the 
inscription  on  the  coffin-plate : 

"DE  WITT  CLINTON, 

Died 

February  11,  1828, 
While  Governor  of  the  State  of  New  York." 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  133 

The  scene  of  the  public  funeral,  which,  in  some- 
thing of  grandeur,  was  conducted  by  the  authority 
of  the  Legislature,  was  very  remarkable  in  its  sin- 
cerity of  sorrow.  A  great  multitude  gathered 
around  the  house,  which  was  that  known  as  the 
Banyer  House,  on  the  south-east  corner  of  Steuben 
and  North  Pearl  streets,  and  the  long  procession 
made  its  way  to  a  private  vault, —  a  little  stone 
building  in  one  of  the  upper  western  streets. 

The  suddenness  of  this  death  was  a  shock  to  the 
public  feeling.  It  put  an  end  at  once  to  a  large 
chapter  of  political  purpose,  and  it  seemed  to  begin 
at  once  the  era  of  new  measures,  and  to  admit 
into  broader  and  stronger  light  those  to  whom 
Clinton  had  been  the  one  obstacle  that  could  not 
be  removed. 

And  yet  this  ought  not  to  have  been  an  occur- 
rence unexpected.  The  clear  and  prophetic  skill 
of  the  eminent  David  Hosack  had  declared,  months 
previous,  that  Governor  Clinton  could  not  live  be- 
yond the  then  coming  March,  and  his  judgment 
was  only  too  true.  I  think  that  at  this  day,  as 
then,  the  status  of  Governor  Clinton,  as  a  great 
man,  is  of  the  very  first  of  all  New  York's  list. 
It  may  be  to  this  hour  a  theme  of  regret,  that  the 
first  place^  in  the  government  of  the  nation  was 
not  filled  by  him.  In  a  better  sense  than  Keats 
used  it  of  himself,  it  may  be  said  of  Clinton  —  the 


134  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

canal  being  his  memorial  —  "  his  name  is  writ  in 
water." 

Governor  Clinton  was  run  to  the  eyelashes  — 
as  the  sporting  men  say  —  in  his  last  contest, 
when  William  B.  Rochester  was  selected  to  run 
against  him.  I  know  that  there  was  the  greatest 
anxiety  manifested  by  Governor  Clinton's  warmest 
friends  in  relation  to  his  success,  and  the  figures 
looked  very  ugly  for  a  long  time ;  and  he  who  was 
so  suddenly  powerful,  was  washed  ashore  on  the 
beach  of  the  Atlantic,  after  a  wild  and  fierce 
storm,  which  wrecked  the  steamship  in  which  he 
was  a  passenger  ;  and  "  Mr.  Rochester,  a  cabin 
passenger,"  was  all  the  record  that  the  chronicle 
of  the  hour  made.  The  State  of  New  York  was 
spared  the  sorrow  —  I  will  not  use  any  other 
word,  lest  it  might  seem  as  of  political  reflection  — 
of  the  thought  that  defeat  had  met  De  Witt  Clin- 
ton. He  took  the  name  which  had  been  eminent 
and  powerful  even  in  our  colonial  days,  and  with 
which  the  history  of  the  State  had  commenced, 
and  made  it  the  pride  of  the  State.  No  wonder 
was  it  that  the  State,  forgetting  all  party  feeling, 
should  have  made  for  him  a  deep  and  sincere 
mourning.  And  yet  the  State  did  not  do  for  his 
great  service  what  would  have  been  done  in  Eng- 
land for  a  statesman  whose  policy  had  so  practi- 
cally benefitted  it ;  and  through  whom  it  had  be- 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  135 

come  the  great  highway  of  all  the  north,  fearing 
the  subtle  and  hidden  injury, —  very  subtle  and 
hidden,  which  is  said  to  exist  in  the  remembrance, 
after  their  terms  of  service  have  closed,  —  New 
York  coldly  turned  aside,  and  gave  the  name  of 
Clinton  a  place,  as  Mr.  Jefferson  says,  u  among 
the  worthies  who  deserve  from  mankind  an  ever- 
lasting remembrance  "  —  but  that  was  all. 

We  have  avoided  a  pension  list  for  civil  service*, 
and  Clinton's  great  work  for  his  State  remained 
unrewarded.  Fulton  was  thrust  out  of  his  fran- 
chise ;  Jefferson  strained  his  ingenuity  and  his 
morality  to  devise  a  lottery  in  his  old  age,  as  a 
means  of  getting  money  to  make  his  extreme  old 
age  comfortable.  It  is  not  too  late  for  us  yet  to  do 
what  will  cost  us  nothing,  —  to  give  to  the  canal 
the  designation  of  the  Clinton  canal.  It  is  no 
more  in  its  results  of  Erie  than  of  Michigan  or 
Huron.  The  most  remote  corner  of  Lake  Michi- 
gan furnishes  more  tonnage  to  the  canal  than  do 
all  the  shores  of  lake  Erie.  Is  this  suggestion  but 
an  imaginative  one  ?  It  may  be  so,  yet  it  may 
find  its  palliation  in  admiration  for  this  great 
statesman  of  New  York. 

Of  Governor  Tompkins,  that  pleasant  and  pop- 
ular man  of  the  people,  I  recollect  only  seeing  his 
entry  into  Albany  with  something  of  a  public  re- 
ception. General  Wickham,  of  Goshen,  related 


136  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

to  me  an  incident  which  the  Governor  told  of  him- 
self, while  enjoying  the  hospitalities  (and  cordial 
and  generous  they  were)  of  Mr.  Wickham's  house. 
He  said  that  he  found  himself  a  judge  of  the 
Supreme  Court  at  a  very  early  age ;  for  the  zeal 
of  his  party  to  do  him  honor  was  not  to  be  re- 
strained by  the  bounds  of  a  cold  prudence.  It  was 
a  formidable  thing  to  be  a  judge  in  that  day. 
•  Well,  one  of  the  first  circuits  to  be  held  by  the 
young  judge  was  that  of  Scoharie  county,  and  one 
of  the  first  questions  to  be  decided  was  whether  a 
certain  old  deed,  produced  in  evidence,  was  an 
ancient  instrument  which  proved  itself;  and  the 
argument,  by  the  grave  and  venerable  and  learned 
counsellors,  the  Van  Vechtens  and  Henrys  and 
Cadys,  was  astute  and  profound,  quite  enough 
to  bewilder  the  judge,  who,  in  despair,  looked  at 
the  deed,  and,  as  he  said,  saw  by  its  worn  and 
musty  appearance  that  it  was  of  any  supposable 
age ;  and  so  he  decided,  and  was  thus  relieved  of 
the  argument  which  he  felt  was  only  bewildering 
him. 

He  presided  at  the  Constitutional  Convention 
of  1821,  where  the  good  and  great  and  wise  of 
our  State  met  to  give  a  new  constitution, —  one  of 
the  first  surges  of  that  great  unrest  and  discontent 
with  the  tested  and  the  proved,  which  the  verse 
thus  condenses : 


WHO    GOES    THERE!  137 

"  All  things  old  are  over  old  ; 

Nothing  new  is  new  enough; 
We  will  teach  mankind  that  we  can  make 
A  world  of  better  stuff." 

How  much  better  the  physical  is  in  our  early 
recollection  than  the  intellectual,  is  illustrated  by 
all  of  us.  A  great  flood,  a  great  fire,  a  vivid  color, 
a  comet,  is  remembered  when  association  with  the 
great  and  the  gifted  has  left  no  impression  on  us. 
1  once  endeavored  to  find  out  the  date  of  marriage 
of  an  elderly  person  who  was  unlettered.  She 
could  not  state  how  long  her  married  life  had  been, 
but  when  asked,  "  Were  you  married  before  or 
after  the  eclipse,  the  great  eclipse  ? "  then  she 
answered  promptly  enough,  "  The  year  after." 

Of  all  that  convention  I  recollect  nothing  of  its 
session  except  seeing  Governor  Tompkins  in  the 
chair ;  but  I  have  a  distinct  impression  of  the  sen- 
sation created  throughout  Albany  by  the  sudden 
death  of  Mr.  Jansen,  one  of  the  representatives  of 
Ulster  county,  while  attending  the  exhibition  of 
Peale's  great  picture,  "  The  Court  of  Death." 
The  mournful  coincidence  was  in  all  hearts  and  on 
all  tongues. 

Through  what  a  succession  of  celebrated  and 
illustrious  names  the  ownership  of  the  mansion, 
once  occupied  by  Governor  Tompkins,  has  passed, 
to  end  in  the  best  of  all  uses  —  that  of  a  church  ! 


138  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

Yates,  and  Tompkins,  and  Seward,  and  the  Kanes. 
It  is  not  a  local  record  alone  that  is  written  in 
these,  and  the  annals  of  whatever  is  courteous  and 
brilliant  would,  for  the  appreciation  of  all,  be  im- 
perfectly written  if  these  were  excluded. 

She  is  dead  whose  name  is  most  imperishably 
associated  with  that  house  when  it  was  the  re- 
sidence of  Oliver  Kane.  -  In  beauty,  glittering ; 
in  wit,  brijliant  ;  in  personal  fascination,  un- 
equalled ;  in  thought,  expression,  conversation,  im- 
pressive, original,  winning,  —  she  made  the  hours 
passed  with  her,  radiant ;  and  it  is  of  the  most  im- 
pressive of  all  monitions  of  the  fading  of  all  that 
is  loved  or  lovely,  to  have  seen  her  name  in  the 
catalogue  of  the  grave. 

That  convention,  over  which  Governor  Tomp- 
kins presided,  included  names  that  might  claim  the 
best  memories  of  the  country.  Did  it  enumerate 
in  its  list  any  greater  man  than  Elisha  Williams  ? 
It  is  not  possible  that  the  universal  plaudit  be- 
stowed on  his  powers,  by  all  who  remember  him, 
can  be  in  error.  He  must  have  been  great  who 
could  deserve  all  this.  A  sharp  examination  of  a 
witness  is  all  that  I  can  personally  recollect  of  him  ; 
but  every  man  that  heard  him,  talks  rapturously 
about  his  charm  of  word.  Especially  did  William 
Kent  talk  to  me  about  him  ;  and  to  have  been 
praised  by  William  Kent  was  high  eulogy.  The 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  139 

choice  word,  the  exquisite  figure,  the  persuasive 
manner,  the  denunciation,  the  sarcasm,  if  those 
were  the  weapons  he  desired  to  use.  I  heard  some 
one  say  that  it  was  ascertained  afterwards  that 
much  of  that  which  seemed  the  brilliant  creation 
of  the  instant  was  the  prepared  and  arranged  work 
of  study ;  and  yet,  such  is  the  conflict  of  testi- 
mony about  all  men,  I  was  also  informed  that  he 
did  not  write  easily.  It  is  possible  to  reconcile  all 
this.  The  fancies  of  men  come  fast  and  flashing. 
To  be  preserved  in  that  which  can  be  available, 
the  process  of  writing,  may  be  slow  indeed  ;  as 
used  afterwards,  the  act  of  utterance  may  give  to 
them  again  all  that  was  brilliant  and  glowing. 
We  can  all  understand  this  when  we  know  that 
Moore's  rose-leaf  words,  which  fall  with  such  soft- 
ness on  the  ear,  were  closely  examined  and  tested 
before  they  were  marshalled  into  metrical  arrange- 
ment ;  and  that  Campbell's  grand  lyrics  were 
thought  about,  and  thought  around,  and  all  over, 
and  beat  out.  Whether  by  preparation  or  im- 
pulse, Williams  rose  in  the  court  or  in  the  legisla- 
ture, the  master  of  the  hour,  and  courts,  and  juries, 
and  conventions  obeyed  the  talisman.  Perhaps  he 
was  not  as  confident  of  success  as  Dudley  Marvin, 
another  most  remarkable  man,  who  said  of  some 
unfortunate  prisoner,  "  He  did  not  employ  me, 
and  he  was  hung." 


140  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

When  Governor  Tompkins  and  Governor  De 
Witt  Clinton  held  the  station  of  chief  magistrate 
of  New  York,  they  had  great  power  of  patronage. 
Under  the  constitution  of  1777  and  1821,  they 
were,  to  a  great  extent,  the  "  fountains  of  honor." 
They  managed  this  perilous  power  very  differ- 
ently. The  one  made  himself  the  delight  of  the 
people ;  the  other,  it  is  true,  sustained  himself,  but 
it  was  by  the  force  of  his  talent  against  his  defi- 
ciency in  that  excellent  little  virtue  of  mind  — 
tact.  Governor  Clinton  was  over-careful,  and 
brought  worlds  of  trouble  on  himself.  When  an 
office  was  vacant,  and  a  candidate  presented  him- 
self, he  said,  "  Let  us  wait,  perhaps  there  will  be 
others ;  "  and  of  course  others,  by  the  quantity, 
presented  themselves,  and  of  the  many  only  one 
was  fortunate  ;  the  others  went  home  to  consider 
themselves  greatly  aggrieved  men.  Not  so  with 
Governor  Tompkins.  When  the  place  was 
vacant,  if  the  man  that  asked  first  was  a  worthy 
and  proper  recipient,  he  gave  him  the  place  at 
once.  Others  came  for  it ;  he  heard  them,  said 
he  had  made  a  choice,  would  have  been  happy 
to  have  seen  them  first ;  why  did  they  not  come 
sooner  ?  Each  man  went  home  convinced  that  it 
was  not  Governor  Tompkins'  fault  that  the  office 
was  not  theirs.  He,  the  Governor,  was  a  noble 
and  a  true-hearted  man.  Their  loss  had  been  in 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  141 

their  own  negligence,  and  hence  Daniel  D.  Tomp- 
kins  was  the  delight  of  the  people. 

I  suppose  that  in  the  political*  annals  of  this 
State,  the  people  were  never  in  a  greater  embar- 
rassment of  good,  than  when  called  on  to  choose 
for  their  Governor  —  as  they  were  in  1816  and 
1820  —  between  Tompkins  and  Rufus  King, 
Tompkins  and  De  Witt  Clinton.  We  can  imag- 
ine the  bewildered  election  and  the  perplexed  suf- 
frage, and  that  there  was  the  contented  feeling  that 
the  result,  in  either  case,  must  be  a  great  victory. 

Ambrose  Spencer,  who  took  such  strong  and 
determined  grasp  of  the  business  of  that  conven- 
tion, as  he  did  of  all  that  came  before  him  in  life, 
was  ever  to  me  the  personification  of  a  ruler, —  not 
of  a  judge, —  distinguished  as  he  is  in  the  memo- 
ries of  men  and  in  the  record  for  eminence  in  the 
latter  department  of  human  action  ;  but  it  was 
difficult  to  imagine  that  man  of  almost  resistless 
utterance  of  opinion,  amounting,  in  the  onset,  to 
decision  —  to  think  of  him  as  calmly  balancing 
and  adjusting  all  that  could  be  said  before  him  in 
relation  to  the  merits  or  the  appearances  of  a  case. 
I  would  rather  have  thought  of  him  as  at  once 
seeing  the  right,  and  that  the  argument,  in  all 
beyond  the  presentation  of  facts,  must  have  been 
restraint  on  his  impatience.  He  looked  the  char- 
acter of  a  ruler,  not  bending  to  the  impulses  of 


142  WHO    GOES   THERE? 

the  hour,  but  with  the  possession  of  constant 
power ;  and  he,  like  his  son,  never  understood  the 
figure  second,  as  applicable  to  himself.  I  do  not, 
by  any  means,  intend  this  as  implying  self-suffi- 
ciency or  vanity,  not  at  all,  but  self-reliance,  — 
that  way  which  seems  to  assert  for  itself  unity,  in- 
dependence, almost  isolation.  His  high  nature 
revolted  at  the  tyranny  of  others.  Perhaps  he 
would  have  exercised  it  himself.  Of  that  I  cannot 
judge  accurately.  He  could  not  abide  General 
Jackson  ;  and  it  was  as  amusing  as  it  was  interest- 
ing to  hear  him,  as  I  have  done,  at  a  public  meet- 
ing, vehemently  denounce  the  loss  of  self-control 
on  the  part  of  the  President,  and  — lose  his  own. 

I  saw  him  meet  Erastus  Root  on  the  steps  of  the 
Capitol,  when,  in  1839,  the  vicissitudes  of  politics 
had  brought  them  within  the  fold  of  one  party. 
General  Root  was  standing,  I  thought,  rather 
awkwardly  and  embarrassed,  and  as  if  not  quite 
certain  what  to  do  when  Judge  Spencer  should 
come  up  to  him.  The  Judge  very  quickly  re- 
lieved him,  for  he  walked  on  as  stern  and  unswerv- 
ing and  erect  as  if  no  truce  of  political  exigency 
had  united  their  long-severed  political  affinities. 

In  1840,  a  large  political  delegation  of  young 
and  active  men  went  from  Ithaca  to  Owego,  to 
attend  a  political  meeting  at  the  latter  place.  We 
had  a  new  locomotive,  which  was  of  the  most 


WHO    GOES    THERE  1  143 

impulsive  character,  and  its  fondness  for  a  rest 
every  mile  or  two  was  remarkable.  The  Judge 
was  with  us,  and  excessively  disturbed  by  the 
hindrances  to  our  journey ;  at  all  which  I  could 
not  be  impatient,  for  the  engine  was  the  effort  of 
a  most  self-sacrificing  enterprise  to  furnish  ad- 
ditional ease  to  the  traveller  on  that  route.  Of 
course  there  was  nothing  very  extraordinary  or 
improper  in  being  greatly  annoyed  at  a  delayed 
journey  ;  but  it  impressed  me  as  not  quite  in  the 
dignity  of  one  who  had  seen  so  much  of  life's  real 
vexations. 

Yet,  this  must  not  be  supposed  to  be  in  igno- 
rance of  the  fact,  that  Judge  Spencer  was  a  man 
thoroughly  possessed  of  the  courtesies  of  life.  I 
have  too  strong  memory  of  personal  kindness  to 
doubt  this  for  a  moment. 

In  the  National  Convention  of  1844,  that  nomi- 
nated Henry  Clay  to  the  Presidency,  Judge 
Spencer  nominated  Mr.  Frelinghuysen  for  the 
Vice-Presidency.  He  did  it,  for  he  willed  it ;  and 
his  was  that  will  which  makes  its  own  road  through 
all  obstacles.  Mr.  Frelinghuysen's  nomination  was 
a  good  one,  but  not  a  wise  one.  It  is  true,  that 
whatever  is  good  is  wise ;  but  it  is  equally  wisdom, 
where  a  choice  of  good  is  presented,  to  take  that 
which  is  also  best  for  the  hour.  If  political  man- 
agers, who  are  often  really  great  men,  would 


144  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

more  frequently  study  Sir  Christopher  Wren's 
epitaph,  it  would  be  to  them  the  signal  light  of 
success. 

When  he  died,  solemn  honors  were  given  by 
the  Legislature  to  a  memory  so  worthy.  The 
Governor  and  all  the  officers  of  State,  the  Senate 
and  the  Assembly,  gathered  at  the  obsequies,  and 
one  of  the  old  Judiciary,  Judge  Woodworth, — 
who  had  been  the  witness  of  all  the  career  of 
Spencer,  —  was  present.  The  services  were  held 
in  the  old  St.  Peter's.  I  remember  that  the  group- 
ing of  the  scene  at  the  funeral  impressed  me. 
There  was  James  Kane,  with  his  blue  camlet  cloak, 
the  collar  half  up,  his  florid  complexion,  disarranged 
hair,  listening  —  as  that  true-hearted  gentleman 
always  did  —  with  the  utmost  attention  ;  the  five 
clergymen,  coming  in  mournful  step  up  the  aisle, 
as  the  organ  moaned  forth  its  notes  of  dirge.  I 
find  that  I  made  a  memorandum,  at  the  time,  that 
the  Legislature  behaved  like  gentlemen.  I  hope 
this  was  not  so  unusual  in  the  history  of  the  times 
as  to  have  been  exceptional. 

I  have  departed  from  my  rule,  in  mentioning 
the  name  of  Mr.  Kane,  for  he  was  a  private  citi- 
zen ;  but  his  were  those  rare  qualities  of  the 
unvarying  gentleman ;  his  association  with  the 
early  mercantile  history  of  the  State  had  been  so 
marked, — his  companionship  with,  and  knowledge 


WHO    GOES    THERE ?  145 

of,  the  leading  men  of  the  State  so  thorough, 
that  his  name  is  not  altogether  out  of  place  in  a 
retrospect  of  the  times. 

The  roll  of  the  really  great  men  who  were  in 
the  Convention  of  1821,  is  a  long  and  historical 
one.  There,  in  that  wonderful  delegation  of  Co- 
lumbia County,  was  Van  Ness.  Of  him  the  testi- 
mony is,  that  in  intellect  he  was  gigantic ;  his 
sway  over  the  heart  irresistible.  I  have  heard 
Mr.  Joshua  A.  Spencer  relate  of  his  powers  of 
conversation,  that,  in  attendance  at  a  circuit,  when 
the  lawyers  were  gathered  at  the  ordinary  tea- 
table  of  the  tavern,  —  which  in  and  on  itself  had 
nothing  whatever  to  detain  them  at  it,  —  such 
was  the  fascination  of  his  talk,  that  they  all  lin- 
gered around  him  until  the  night  passed  away, 
and  the  morning  sun  surprised  the  intellectual 
revellers.  Van  Ness  belonged  to  a  family  who 
took  high  mental  rank,  and  in  all  the  departments 
of  public  action  made  their  names  remembered  for 
their  talent. 

Not  that  they  were  in  the  Convention,  but  that 
amidst  the  roll  of  the  eloquent  men  of  that  period, 
they  were  eminent,  I  would  like  to  have  known 
something  of  Baent  Gardinier  and  of  Henry  R. 
Storrs.  The  first  has  a  traditional  reputation  of 
brilliancy,  and  the  latter  is  of  the  first  names  in 
the  legal  annals  of  our  State.  I  once  asked  Mr. 
10 


146  WHO    GOES    THERE ? 

Thurlow  Weed,  whose  opportunities  of  observa- 
tion and  accuracy  in  those  opportunities  were  un- 
equalled, who  had  impressed  themselves  upon  his 
memory  as  the  most  eloquent  men  heard  by  him. 
He  deliberated  some  time  before  he  answered,  and 
then  said,  "  John  Duer  and  Henry  R.  Storrs  ;  "  and 
it  must  have  been  that  Mr.  Storrs  deserved  this 
high  tribute  of  praise.  I  have  a  personal  mourn- 
ful association  with  his  name.  Some  months  before 
these  pages  were  written,  Mr.  William  Curtis 
Noyes,  the  graceful  and  distinguished  counsellor, 
had  arranged  with  me  to  join  him  in  preparing  a 
life  of  Mr.  Storrs,  especially  in  view  of  a  journal 
or  diary  which  Mr.  Storrs  had  kept,  and  which 
was  then  to  be  in  the.  care  of  Mr.  Noyes.  It  has 
since  been  placed  in  the  archives  of  the  Buffalo 
'Historical  Society. 

Gardinier  and  Storrs  blended  the  life  of  the 
lawyer  with  the  statesman,  having  very  ably 
filled  congressional  place ;  and  were  both  recognized 
as  men  to  whom  the  impatient  ear  of  Congress 
would  give  its  rare  attention. 

We  lost  power  in  the  North  when  we  ceased  to 
have  such  men  in  our  representation.  Mr.  Clay 
remembered  well  the  career  of  Mr.  Storrs,  and  in 
a  visit  to  Western  New  York  alluded  to  it.  There 
was  a  gathering  of  talent  in  and  about  the  County 
of  Oneida,  which  left  its  impress  on  the  policy 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  147 

and  jurisprudence  of  the  State  for  a  long  series 
of  years  ;  and  the  list  of  those  who  from  that 
home  graced  the  capitol  and  the  courts  is  a  proud 
page  in  her  annals.  Before  our  volume  is  com- 
pleted, we  shall  find  another  name  that,  though 
brief  in  career,  made  even  that  brevity  of  life  bril- 
liant and  powerful. 

Mr.  Storrs'  great  power  as  a  debater  made  for 
him  a  reputation  any  man  would  have  envied,  for 
it  is  known  that  Mr.  Clay  said  of  him,  —  and  that 
without  the  prompting  of  any  leading  question,  — 
"  that  he  was  greatest  in  the  House  of  Representa- 
tives of  any  man  he  had  known.  He  had  great 
power  of  reasoning,  sufficiently  rhetorical,  but, 
above  all,  forcible,  —  of  commanding  person,  of  fine 
voice.  He  saw  far  ahead,  —  he  saw  too  far;  all 
sides  of  a  question  presented  themselves,  and  while 
the  mass  by  his  side  accepted  and  were  swayed 
by  his  reasoning,  he  left  himself  in  doubt,  and 
went  on  and  went  into  doubt,  and  from  that,  his 
reasoning  and  his  action  dissevered."  At  the  close 
of  a  speech,  which  brought  the  minds  of  men 
right  to  him,  it  was  not  at  all  certain  that  his  own 
action  would  correspond  to  the  word  to  which  his 
reasoning,  irresistible  to  others,  had  led  them.  He 
seemed  not  to  know  how  to  grasp  power,  after 
he  had  won  it.  Hence  Mr.  Clay  may  be  excused 
for  having  added  to  his  eulogy  of  Mr.  Storrs,  that, 


148  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

•with  his  greatness,  he  was  also  the  most  useless  of 
all  leading  men. 

And  this  has  its  parallel  in  a  class  of  men  who 
speak  to  themselves,  who,  from  thought  and  study 
and  philosophical  analysis  of  their  own  judgment, 
overlook  the  fact  that  the  kingdom  within  us,  how- 
ever all-important  to  ourselves,  is,  in  truth,  of 
very  little  interest  to  all  exterior.  An  eminent 
debater  in  the  State  legislation  of  New  York,  Mr. 
Simmons,  of  Essex  County,  could  reason  well  for 
hours ;  and  it  was  easy  for  him  to  do  so.  He  was 
talking  to  the  Areopagi  that  sat  on  the  Mars  Hill 
of  his  own  studies ;  but  the  power  to  reach  other 
men  was  not  his.  I  name  him,  for  he  was  eminent 
as  an  abstract  reasoner.  Mr.  Storrs,  it  is  true, 
did  influence  others,  and  that  greatly  ;  but  they 
were  tired  of  following  a  man,  who  did  not  follow 
himself.  All  over  the  earth,  —  for  it  is  of  the 
weakness  of  human  kind,  —  men  will  follow  most 
closely  a  leader  who,  in  some  degree,  commands 
their  allegiance.  The  degree  may  not  safely  go  to 
that  which  is  arbitrary,  but  it  will  only  be  effectual 
if  it  is  decisive.  We  find  Mr.  Storrs'  name  rather 
in  the  lesser  biographies  for  this,  when  his  talent 
was  such  as  to  deserve  a  foremost  place,  if  he  had 
but  gone  where  his  bright  and  glowing  words 
went. 

The    controversies    between    the    federal    and 


WHO    GOES    THERE f  149 

the  democratic  party  occupied  the  thought  and 
words  of  these  gifted  men.  Time  holds  an  in- 
verted telescope,  and  we  see  subjects  of  strife  as 
much  smaller  than  they  appeared  to  those  who  were 
actors  at  the  hour.  Mr.  Hammond,  in  his  politi- 
cal history,  gives  the  formal  and  didactic  account 
of  these  controversies,  and  the  reason  for  them ; 
and  although  he  was  once  so  kind  as  to  propose 
that  I  should  write  the  continuation  of  his  history, 
I  am  not  to  touch  such  themes,  except  as  in  illus- 
tration of  more  general  history,  in  this  volume. 
In  the  far-off  look  at  the  debates  and  arguments 
and  addresses  and  resolutions  and  proceedings  and 
celebrations,  we  see  that  our  quiet  ancestors  blazed 
themselves  into  a  great  heat  about  the  thesis  of  the 
hour.  They  drove  quiet  from  their  days,  —  perhaps 
very  wisely,  —  that  is,  of  the  unsettled  questions. 
It  is  amusing  to  look  at  the  far-off  indignation. 
The  scowl  of  party  violence  almost  darkened  the 
thresholds  of  Mount  Vernon,  and  as  to  all  other 
households,  it  laid  the  very  shadows  of  Egypt 
across  some  of  them.  I  have  before  me  a  notice 
written  by  federals,  of  a  celebration  of  the  down- 
fall of  Napoleon  L,  which  is  so  vituperative  of  the 
democrats  as  to  be  ludicrous.  It  says :  u  The 
democrats  surrounded  the  tavern  (Washington 
Hall),  with  intent  to  commit  the  usual  horrid  dep- 
redations concomitant  with  the  nature  of  these 


150  WHO    GOES    THERE f 

human  monsters.  The  police  had  been  p?epared 
in  time,  and  when  these  savage  orgies  commenced 
their  infernal  pranks,  they  were  arrested  on  the 
threshold  of  their  pursuit,  and  were  committed  to 
prison,  among  whom  were  some  of  their  first  char- 
acters. The  celebration  of  the  day  was  held 
with  cheerful  harmony  and  enthusiasm,  with  a 
m6st  able  oration  by  the  Hon.  Governeur  Morris." 
Such  was  the  temper  of  the  times.  We  can,  in 
reading  the  above,  better  estimate  the  steady  intel- 
lect of  the  great  men  who,  amidst  such  storm  of 
opinions,  were  masters  of  all  that  was  winning  and 
persuasive  in  human  utterance. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

FROM   ERASTUS   ROOT   TO   JOHN   RANDOLPH. 


jUT  we  return  to  the  Convention  of  1821, — 
for  it  was  the  full-dress  party  of  the  intellect 
of  that  period, —  each  county  having  exerted 
itself  to  send  thither  its  wisest  and  worthiest. 
So,  too,  did  Virginia  gather  in  that  day  its 
noblest  names  to  a  similar  Convention  ;  and 
when  James  Madison  rose  to  speak,  such 
was  the  crowd  around  him,  that  the  reporter  could 
find  place  for  his  duty  only  at  his  feet. 

I  have  alluded  to  the  concentration  of  the  intel- 
lect, of  the  State  at  the  Convention  of  1821. 
This  expression  should  be  used  in  a  more  guarded 
form.  A  close  review  of  the  lists  of  that  Conven- 
tion gives  indeed  a  catalogue  of  many  names,  each 
of  whom  was  eminent  —  some  very  eminent  ; 
there  are  men  not  named  there  whose  absence  was 
severe  loss  to  the  State.  There  were  few  men 
better  fitted  to  discuss  questions  of  grave  constitu- 
tional ethics  than  the  younger  (John  C.)  Spencer 
and  Gulian  C.  Verplanck ;  and  it  was  ever  to  be 

151 


152  WHO    GOES    THERE* 

regretted  that  the  occupancy  of  the  Governor's 
chair  deprived  the  Convention  of  the  presence  of 
De  Witt  Clinton. 

I  do  not  see  in  that  Convention  that  any  one 
man  ruled  it.  When  I  come  to  write,  in  pages 
following  this,  of  the  next  constitutional  gather- 
ing,—  that  of  1846, —  I  shall  have  but  one  record 
of  fame  to  make  there ;  that  was  Michael  Hoff- 
man's Convention, —  certainly  nothing  less,  per- 
haps nothing  more.  I  can  readily  see  that  in 
Judge  Spencer  there  was,  in  1821,  a  man  with  all 
the  will  to  rule ;  but  there  rise  other  names  there 
that  would  not  consent  to  any  such  imperialism. 

Erastus  Root  was  not  a  man  to  permit  any  large 
measure  of  contradiction  or  dictation.  Mingling 
the  roughness  of  pioneer  life,  of  a  semi-frontier 
experience,  with  a  strong  intellect,  brighter  than 
is  his  general  reputation,  he  had  such  a  vigorous 
will  of  his  own,  that  he  frequently  bore  down 
opposition  without  convincing  it.  His  were  the 
old  ideas  of  radicalism,  operating  in  some  grandeur 
of  theory, —  waifs  from  the  doctrines  of  the  French 
revolution, —  and  he  was  in  earnest.  Hence,  when, 
in  after  life,  he  found  those  doctrines  used  for  self- 
ish and  petty  purposes,  he  found  it  an  easy  thing 
to  be  enrolled  among  conservative  men  ;  though 
in  such  a  rank,  not  as  distinctive  or  as  interesting. 

Certainly  his  earnestness  did  not  forsake  him ; 


WHO    GOES    THERE ?  153 

for  all  who  witnessed,  as  I  did  in  part,  his  sena- 
torial career  from  1840  to  1844,  could  not  but  be 
amazed  at  the  physical  force  with  which  he  spoke ; 
tearing  his  voice  with  a  vehemence  that  only  the 
stoutest  frame  of  lung  and  throat  could  withstand  ; 
and  yet,  with  all  this,  there  was  a  semi-simplicity  of 
character  and  manner  about  him.  Of  course  I 
allude  now  to  his  later  days.  I  thought  it  a  pic- 
ture for  a  photographist  to  see,  as  I  did,  this  vet- 
eran statesman, —  his  white  hair  and  glowing  face, 
a  velvet  cap  not  ungracefully  upon  his  head, — 
very  earnestly  playing  chess  with  a  young  lady ; 
and  quite  absorbed  in  the  game  he  was. 

Long  years  before  that  —  when  he  was  quite 
another  man,  and,  I  fear  I  may  say,  a  rude  man  — 
I  saw  him  in  church  rise  during  the  sermon  and 
turn  his  back  to  the  preacher.  Perhaps  that  was 
among  the  things  allowed  in  the  frontier  habits  to 
which  he  was  accustomed  ;  perhaps  it  was  to 
express  his  displeasure  or  weariness  in  something 
which  the  preacher  uttered.  It  seemed  rude  enough, 
and  I  think  was,  at  the  time,  the  subject  of  com- 
ment. We  have  a  general  improvement  of  man- 
ners since  that  time.  A  man  grieved  or  displeased 
may,  in  these  days,  be  permitted  to  walk  out  of 
church,  but,  while  in  it,  the  law  of  society,  as  of 
right  is,  that  he  must  be  decorous  and  respectful. 

It  was  the  good  fortune  of  Erastus  Root  always 


154  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

to  appear  and  reappear  in  public  life  at  periods  of 
the  highest  interest.  Perhaps  it  was  just  then 
that  the  sense  of  his  value  of  public  service  would 
strongest  suggest  itself  to  the  memory  of  his  fellow- 
men.  He  was,  though  filling  the  second  place, 
the  strong  man  of  the  Executive  department  of 
1822.  He  was  in  Congress  while  Jefferson  was 
President,  and  while  yet  the  storms  of  the  last 
century  had  not  subsided ;  in  the  difficult  period 
just  before  and  just  after  the  war  of  1812,  and  in 
the  era  of  the  nullification  of  1831 ;  in  the  State 
Senate  during  the  war  of  1812,  and  forty  years 
afterward ;  while  his  service  in  the  Assembly  was 
scattered  along  from  1798  to  1830,  knowing  as 
many  phases  of  party  as  Talleyrand  knew  of 
French  governments.  His  life  was  a  political 
kaleidoscope. 

He  requested  me  at  one  time  to  present  him  to 
William  Lyon  Mackenzie,  who  was  then  in  service 
at  Albany,  as  a  correspondent  for  one  of  the  leading 
New  York  papers.  I  thought  it  a  very  curious 
and  not  uncongenial  nor  inappropriate  meeting,  for 
both  of  them  had  sought  and  found  the  wildest 
waves  of  political  agitation. 

There  could  be  something  of  the  imaginative  or 
poetical  about  his  conversation.  I  recollect  his 
using  this  figure,  which  I  thought  a  beautiful  one. 
Said  he,  "  The  mind  of  man  is  stronger  after  he 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  155 

has  passed  his  prime  of  life  than  at  that  period ; 
just  as  the  earth  is  warmer  in  the  afternoon  than 
when  the  sun  is  in  the  zenith." 

I  attended  the  last  day  of  the  December  term 
of  the  Court  of  Errors,  in  1843,  knowing  that  it 
was  the  completion  of  Erastus  Root's  service  as  of 
the  Senate  and  Court,  just  for  the  purpose  of 
watching  the  last  official  moment  of  a  career  so 
lengthened, —  beginning  in  1798, —  then  to  end  ; 
and  the  last  vote  he  gave  was  on  some  question  of 
authority  of  the  Court,  and  he  said  "  No  ! "  and 
as  he  was  about  to  leave,  said  he,  not  exactly 
aloud,  but,  as  it  were,  aside,  "  This  closes  my 
official  labors  for  time  and  for  eternity."  I 
thought  then  it  was  rather  sadly  or  reluctantly 
said.  He  had  lived  to  see  the  fallacy  of  some  of 
his  earliest  and  strongest  views.  The  Erie  Canal 
was  a  national  success  ;  yet  the  time  had  been 
when  the  batteau-men  roared  by  every  tavern-side 
on  the  Mohawk,  at  General  Root's  comical  appli- 
cation to  the  river  and  the  canal,  of  "  The  hole  for 
the  big  cat  and  another  hole  for  the  little  cat,  too." 

A  very  different  man  —  and  not  as  eminent, 
but,  in  his  line,  distinguished  —  was  Abraham  Van 
Vechten,  one  of  the  Albany  delegation  in  conven- 
tion. Recollection  of  him  cannot  be  effaced  while 
that  wonderfully  accurate  portrait  of  him  is  in  ex- 
istence, which  is  one  of  the  ornaments  of  the 


156  WHO    G  OES    THERE  ? 

room  of  the  Court  of  Appeals  in  the  Capitol.  He 
looked,  above  all  other  men,  the  personification  of 
the  most  respectable  class  of  the  old  lawyer. 
There  was  worth  and  integrity  in  his  appearance 
that  could  not  be  mistaken.  I  cannot  imagine  a 
more  pleasing,  satisfactory  picture  than  to  see,  as 
I  have  seen,  this  aged  gentleman  and  counsellor 
sitting  in  the  front  door  of  his  residence,  or  rather 
of  his  office,  at  Albany,  in  his  old-fashioned,  neat, 
and  well-arranged  costume,  his  Bible  on  his  knee, 
with  his  long  pipe  in  mouth,  and  all  in  the  quiet 
appropriateness  of  one  to  whom  this  scene  was  of 
the  fitness  of  things,  and  so  understood  and  ac- 
cepted by  all  who  passed.  Albany  had,  what  is  so 
seldom  presented  to  popular  suffrage,  the  difficult 
choice  between  two  most  worthy  men,  each  of 
them  blended  with  the  best,  recollections  of  an 
eventful  period,  when  they  had  to  select  either 
John  Tayler  or  Abraham  Van  Vechten  as  Presi- 
dential elector. 

Mr.  Van  Vechten  was  the  synonyme  in  his 
locality  for  safe  counsel,  and  others  beyond  his 
immediate  neighborhood  so  adjudged  him.  Hence 
John  Jacob  Astor  selected  him  as  one  of  his  coun- 
sel to  obtain  the  title  of  the  Putnam  County  land, 
whose  romantic  association  with  one  of  the  early 
loves  of  Washington  is  narrated  in  a  former  chap^ 
£er  of  this  volume.  Although  the  remark  was  not 


WHO    GOES    THERE f  157 

entirely  original  with  him,  yet  it  impressed  me  as 
concentrating  a  large  truth,  when,  after  the  publi- 
cation of  the  Revised  Statutes,  he  alluded  to  the 
difficulties  of  finding  the  new  enactments.  "  If  any 
•  one  asks  me,"  said  he,  u  a  question  in  common 
law,  I  shall  be  ashamed  if  I  cannot  give  him  an 
immediate  answer ;  if  he  asks  me  of  the  statute 
law,  I  shall  be  ashamed  if  I  can."  He  could  say 
a  sententious  thing  very  cleverly.  I  asked  him, 
if  he  had  ever  been  at  the  village  of  Ithaca. 
"  Oh,  yes,"  said  he,  "  all  over  it  —  in  the  Court 
of  Chancery." 

Nathan  Sanford  was  an  adroit,  able,  over-man- 
nered man,  making  the  lowest  bow  of  any  man 
of  his  time  ;  seeking  the  society  of  young  men, 
and  skilful  to  see  who  those  were  whom  he  should 
attach  to  his  fortunes.  He  must  have  had  all  the 

^ 

success  he  could  have  desired,  for  he  filled  the  high 
places  of  Chancellor  and  United  States  Senator. 
He  seemed  to  me  one  of  those  statesmen  who  be- 
lieve in  the  necessity  of  adapting  themselves  to 
the  ways  of  men  as  they  were  among  them,  even 
if  the  acquiescence  be  very  insincere ;  but  those 
who  knew  him  intimately,  and  yielded  to  his  per- 
suasiveness, deemed  him  very  able,  while  they,  even 
in  their  allegiance  to  him,  saw  that  his  was  a 
school  of  statesmen,  which  might  have  congenially 
included  Mr.  Burr. 


158  WHO    GOES    THERE* 

A  western  county  sent  to  that  Convention  a 
young  lawyer,  then,  as  in  all  his  long  career  of 
public  honors,  a  most  fortunate  man.  Judge  Nel- 
son, then  representing  Cortland,  was  one  of  the 
two  names  which  reappeared  in  the  Convention 
of  1846.  A  dignified  gentleman,  Judge  Nelson's 
success  has  been  the  gift  of  time  to  a  most  worthy 
recipient.  We  call  some  men  fortunate,  but  good 
fortune  is  often  only  talent  availing  itself  at  once 
of  opportunity. 

When  John  Duer  died,  there  was  no  erasure 
from  the  roll  of  common  men.  The  State  of  New 
York  lost  of  those  men  who  were  of  the  chief  among 
the  mighty.  As  a  judge  of  one  of  the  courts  of 
the  city  of  New  York,  he  had  been  withdrawn 
from  public  observation.  Whatever  of  reasoning 
or  ability  accompanied  his  judicial  life,  by  that  he 
was  least  known.  It  was  to  John  Duer  as  a 
counsellor,  as  a  statesman,  a  man  of  profound  and 
clear  thought,  that  the  public  ear  listened  for  long 
years.  I  have  before  alluded  to  his  reputation 
for  eloquence,  as  avouched  by  the  highest  author- 
ity. 

Mr.  Duer  Believed  in  the  wisdom  that  is  founded 
upon  learning,  —  upon  the  close  and  arduous  *irt- 

vestigation  of  the  results  at  which   the  minds  of 
& 

the  gifted  of  all  ages  have  arrived.     He  came  to 
study,  as  the  epicurean  comes  to  pleasure.   General 


WHO    GOES    THERE f  159 

Wickham,  of  Goshen,  told  me  that  while  he  was, 
many  years  since,  accompanying  Mr.  Duer,  on 
one  of  the  south-western  circuits,  they  were  com- 
pelled to  occupy  at  the  tavern  one  room.  The 
General,  wisely  believing  that  night  was  made  for 
sleep,  went  to  rest.  Just  before  falling  asleep,  he 
noticed  his  friend  standing  at  the  bookcase,  with 
a  volume  in  one  hand  and  a  candle  in  the  other. 
The  night  passed,  and  the  morning  hour  came, 
and  when  he  looked  for  Mr.  Duer,  he  was  yet 
at  the  bookcase,  the  book  still  in  his  grasp,  and 
the  wasted,  long-wicked  candle  flickering  in  its 
paleness  in  feeble  contrast  with  the  daylight.  The 
reader  had  omitted  sleep ;  the  mind  had  forgotten 
the  body. 

Though  of  the  old-fashioned  school  of  men,  in 
the  forms  of  courtesy  and  in  the  tastes  of  asso- 
ciation, Mr.  Duer  was  with  his  age  always.  He 
had  no  dimness  of  eye  toward  a  vigorous  progress. 
While  the  old  wealth  of  classic  learning  was  re- 
coined  by  his  memory,  that  memory  welcomed 
every  new  vein  of  thought. 

He  was  of  the  class  of  men  that  made  the  city 
of  New  York  remembered  by  every  intellectual 
visitor.  Wit,  learning,  eloquence,  did  not  die  with 
him,  but  they  were  garments  that  were  only  put 
off  by  him,  as  the  mortal  puts  on  immortality. 

One  of  the  greatest  of  the  names  of  the  Con- 


160  WHO    GOES    THERE* 

vention  of  1821  remains,  James  Kent ;  and  I  can 
only  regret  that  it  never  was  my  good  fortune  to 
meet  him.  But  of  him,  there  was  always  a  high 
and  exalted  public  estimate,  as  of  the  great  civilian 
of  New  York's  history  ;  and  the  appearance  of  his 
Commentaries  was  recognized  as  the  illumination 
of  the  law,  shed  over  it  by  one  of  the  brightest 
minds  devoted  to  its  science.  It  was  an  era  in 
our  annals,  that  is,  of  their  best  pages,  when  this 
great  lawyer  reached  his  eightieth  year.  All  that 
was  eminent  in  the  Bar  of  New  York,  in  all  parts 
of  the  State,  joined  in  the  tribute  of  public  hom- 
age. They  said,  —  and  it  was  truthfully  said,  — 
u  It  is  with  the  immortal  Commentaries  on  the 
law  of  England  that  those  on  American  law  are 
now  classed,  and  the  names  of  Blackstone  and 
Kent  are  never  hereafter  to  be  disjoined.''  For- 
tunately for  James  Kent,  his  biography  is  even 
now  in  preparation  by  one  who  can  fully  appre- 
ciate, and  admirably  delineate,  the  career  of  a  great 
legal  mind. 

Rufus  King  brought  to  that  Convention  the 
sanction  of  his  illustrious  name,  —  a  delegate  from 
one  of  the  Long  Island  counties ;  for  that  section 
of  the  State  could  not  see  such  an  assemblage  as 
a  Constitutional  Convention,  without  claiming  to 
send  thither  its  most  illustrious  name. 

It  is  to  the  honor  of  New  York  that  it  placed 


WHO    GOES    THE  RE  1  161 

Mr.  King  in  the  high  trust  of  its  first  senatorial 
representation  in  the  forming  government  of  the 
United  States,  and  by  the  side  of  Philip  Schuyler, 
who  was  so  thoroughly  the  representative  of  old 
New  York.  Mr.  King  had  just  come  to  New  York 
from  Massachusetts.  It  was  a  noble  proof  that 
this  great  State  had  no  narrow  or  limited  views  of 
birthright  to  its  honors.  The  blended  citizenship 
was  most  appropriately  represented  by  General 
Schuyler  and  Mr.  King. 

I  can  imagine  how  historic  Mr.  King's  presence 
in  the  Convention  of  1821  must  have  been,  as  he 
had  been  a  member  of  that  greatest  of  all  Con- 
ventions, that  which  framed  the  Constitution  of 
the  United  States,  and  over  which  presided  George 
Washington,  who  was,  as  Madame  de  Stael  said 

O  '  * 

of  the  Emperor  Alexander,  himself  a  constitution 
to  his  country.  What  respect  must  have  awaited  on 
his  every  movement,  and  with  what  deference  to 
experience,  gathered  in  schools  of  public  service  so 
distinguished,  must  his  opinions  have  been  re- 
ceived !  I  can  believe  all  the  traditions  of  Rufus 
King's  ability,  because  I  have  known  his  son, 
Charles  King. 

Recently,  Blackwood's  Magazine  contained  an 
article  on  Harrow  School,  its  history  and  its  schol- 
ars ;  and  it  was  mentioned  that  two  sons  of  the 
American  Minister  had  received  education  there, 
11 


162  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

because,  so  the  magazine  said,  that  gentleman 
had  believed,  that  at  Harrow  there  was  less  atten- 
tion paid  to  the  distinctions  of  rank.  I  doubt 
whether  Rufus  King,  in  givirfg  to  his  sons,  Charles 
and  John  A.,  the  advantages  of  Harrow  School, 
stopped  to  think  about  its  rules  or  customs  of 
deference  to  rank.  They  enjoyed  its  advantages 
themselves,  like  young  gentlemen  and  the  sons  of 
a  gentleman.  It  has  been  very  interesting  to  me 
to  hear  their  memories  of  boyish  days  when  they 
met,  in  the  equality  of  fellow-students,  Byron,  that 
greatest  of  poets,  —  but  to  whom  the  boys  gave 
some  ludicrous  name  for  his  lameness,  and,  for 
other  causes,  called  him  "  the  poor  lord,"  —  and 
Peel,  so  long  the  real  ruler  of  England.  These 
were  associations  which  the  future  Governor  of 
New  York,  the  future  eminent  writer  and  scholar, 
do  not  forget ;  and  which  form,  indeed,  only  a 
brief  chapter  in  their  very  interesting  reminis- 
cence. 

George  III.  did  not  fail  to  express  his  satisfac- 
tion that  Mr.  King,  while  visiting  Paris,  was  not 
presented  to  Napoleon,  —  "  To  that  man,"  as  the 
English  monarch  said  of  the  great  ruler,  "  by  the 
side  of  whose  career,  history  fails  to  remember  his 
own."  He  placed  the  American  minister's  reti- 
cence in  acceptable  contrast  with  the  visiting  of 
Napoleon  by  Mr.  Fox ;  and,  in  his  quick,  rftervous 


WHO    GOES    THERE f  163 

manner  of  repetition,  said,  "  You  did  not  go  to  see 
that  man.  —  Mr.  Fox  did,  Mr.  Fox  did  !  " 

Most  of  us  think  we  could  have  ventured  to 
incur  the  displeasure  of  most  of  the  potentates  of 
the  earth,  to  have  seen  Napoleon.  I  recollect  Mr. 
Gallatin  expressing  his  regret  that,  in  consequence  > 
of  some  mistaken  delicacy,  he  did  not  see  him 
while  in  Paris,  during  his  service  as  Minister  to 
England. 

The  elder  Adams  and  the  younger  Adams  both 
sent  Mr.  King  to  the  English  court,  and  he  saw 
that  central  arena  of  earth's  influences  while  yet 
the  great  men  of  the  last  century's  power  were 
living,  and  in  the  day  of  the  men  who  had  suc- 
ceeded to  them  ;  Pitt  and  Fox  of  the  past,  and 
Canning  and  Palmerston  of  the  new  men.  It 
was  the  good  fortune  of  Mr.  King's  sons  to 
visit  Charles  James  Fox,  at  his  residence,  and  also 
to  hear  him  in  his  place  in  Parliament ;  and  I 
have  heard  Mr.  Charles  King  most  interestingly 
describe  the  ease  and  quiet  assurance  of  power 
with  which  Mr.  Fox  spoke,  his  hands  reposing  on 
his  portly  person. 

The  name  connected  with  the  Conventions  of 
New  York,  that  lingered  longest  in  life,  was  that 
of  John  Lansing,  more?  familiarly  known  as  Chan- 
cellor Lansing,  who  led  the  delegation  from 
Albany  to  the  Convention  of  1788,  and  who  I 


164  WHO     GOES    THERE? 

recollect  making  some  motion  in  the  Supreme 
Court  not  long  before  his  sad  disappearance  from 
among  the  living,  and  which  was  objected  to  by  a 
lawyer,  as  not  consistent  with  the  practice ;  and 
the  delicate  and  considerate  manner  in  which  the 
Judge  —  whose  name,  for  that  courtesy,  I  could 
wish  to  remember  —  said,  as  if  deprecating  the 
opposition,  "  Great  allowance  is  to  be  made  for  the 
age  of  the  counsel  who  has  made  the  motion."  I 
know  I  thought  at  the  time  it  was  a  very  kind 
scene. 

Chancellor  Lansing,  with  Robert  Yates,  gave 
us  our  only  glimpse  of  General  Washington's  great 
Convention  of  1788, —  all  or  most  of  our  knowl- 
edge of  it,  till  the  Madison  papers  were  published. 
The  Judge  who  was  so  courteous,  as  I  have  above 
related,  was  much  more  civil  than  John  Sloss 
Hobart,  one  of  the  earliest  of  the  judiciary,  who, 
Judge  Woodworth  told  me,  quite  sharply  set  him 
down,  when,  as  a  young  man,  he  rose  to  address. 
"  Sit  down,  young  man,"  said  he;  "jiobody  but  a 
counsellor  at  law  practises  in  my  court !  " 

Those  were  days  when  the  Bench  dared  to  say, 
"  This  is  my  court !  "  and  between  objecting  to  so 
much  individuality  of  power,  and  "  reforming  "  it, 
and  regretting  that  we  had  reformed  quite  so 
much,  the  exact  place  of  the  judiciary  has  not 
quite  settled  itself  to  this  day. 


WHO   GOES    THERE?  165 

Notwithstanding  all  that  is  •  said  —  and  often 
truly  said  —  of  the  dying  out  of  old  names  and 
old  families,  yet  one  can  trace  through  the  series  of 
the  assemblages,  when  the  leading  men  of  the  State 
have  been  called  together,  a  type  or  group  of  the 
same  families  from  the  very  colonial  times  —  in- 
deed, into  them.  The  Beekman  and  Schuyler  and 
Clinton  are  familiar  in  1860  as  they  were  in  1710 
and  1719  and  1743  ;  and  we  have  sent  to  the 
highest  place  in  our  State  and  to  the  Senate  of  the 
United  States  a  descendant  of  the  greatly  misun- 
derstood and  misrepresented  Stuyvesant  of  1647. 
So  our  wheel  of  political  power  is  not  always  in 
the  guidance  of  new  men.  The  name  of  Livings- 
ton has  a  lease  of  representation  dating  from  the 
year  1777. 

John  C.  Spencer  was,  emphatically,  one  of  the 
first  men  in  all  the  annals  of  New  York,  and,  in- 
deed, of  the  nation  ;  and  it  would  have  been  un- 
easiness to  him  to  have  thought  his  name  in  any 
other  than  the  very  first  line  of  record ;  and  this 
not  of  vanity,  but  of  the  consciousness  of  self- 
reliance.  He  asked  neither  pioneer  nor  convoy  in 
life  ;  and  his  influence  was  always  on  the  pulse  of 
the  action  around  him.  If  a  very  difficult  affair 
was  to  be  disentangled;  if  a  very  rending  and 
racking  problem  of  political  doctrine  was  to  be 
solved,  men  trod  the  very  road  of  despair  to  go 


166  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

to  his  office,  to  find  its  solution.  Educated  and 
brought  up  amidst  that  illustrious  school  of  men 
who  circled  around  his  father,  he  rose  from  these 
influences  and  carried  away  from  them  their  best. 
He  took  study  by  school,  by  college,  by  grasp  on 
learning,  and  by  experience  of  the  world.  He 
brought  all  this  to  his  own  mould,  rejecting  as 
promptly  as  tamer  minds  acquiesced  —  not  believ- 
ing in  failure,  and  not  knowing  fear. 

The  career  of  Mr.  Spencer  was  an  isolated  one. 
He  was  never  known  as  the  appendage  to  any 
man.  He  was  careful  of  the  official  proprieties  of 
life;  but  it  was  true  of  him  —  I  know  not  but 
more  truly  than  of  any  other  —  that  whoever  ruled 
state  or  nation,  did  not  rule  him.  He  was  of  no 
man's  clique  or  cabal ;  and  the  power  that  gov- 
erned, whether  it  was  by  political  or  official  influ- 
ence, might,  as  it  often  did,  find  in  him  a 
counsellor,  but  it  never  curbed  him  into  a  vassal. 
What  he  believed, —  his  idea  of  the  right, —  he 
followed.  Strong  in  his  own  elaborate  examina- 
tion, if  the  strength  of  the  popular  opinion  flowed 
with  his  own,  it  was  well,  and  he  could  gracefully 
appreciate  the  support ;  but  if  it  deserted  him,  he 
did  not  desert  his  judgment. 

His  life  was  a  long  array  of  service  to  others ; 
or,  as  it  would  best  express  the  truth,  of  assist- 
ance to  others.  At  the  bar,  with  the  rich  learning 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  167 

of  a  life-long  student  in  the  lore  of  the  law,  with 
an  earnestness,  a  seriousness  of  utterance  that 
compelled  attention,  he  was  heard  by  the  judges 
as  one  to  neglect  whose  words  would  have  been 
injustice  to  themselves ;  and  he  could  utter  such 
terse  and  forcible  sentences  !  In  the  argument  on 
the  constitutionality  of  the  canal  revenue  certifi- 
cate law,  in  1851,  in  which  his  judgment  coincided 
with  that  of  Daniel  Webster,  and  which  he  re- 
garded as  one  of  the  most  important  of  all  the 
cases  in  which  he  was  ever  engaged,  I  recollect 
his  warning  to  the  court,  lest  too  often  or  too  arbi- 
trarily they  should  overrule  or  thrust  aside  the 
effect  and  force  of  the  will  of  the  legislative  branch 
of  the  government.  "  Take  care,"  said  he,  "  the 
bow,  too  often  bent,  breaks  at  last !  " 

In  the  halls  of  legislation,  he  so  forcibly,  so 
faithfully  asserted  a  principle, —  or,  perhaps,  oftener 
combated  a  policy,  —  that,  though  it  might  be  a 
minority  of  numbers  with  whom  he  acted,  it 
soon  became  a  majority  of  such  might  of  argu- 
ment, that  the  great  axiom  of  government  became 
a  reality  in  his  case,  "that  power  is  always  pass- 
ing from  the  many  to  the  few." 

He  held  high  cabinet  office,  and  the  annals  of 
those  eminent  positions,  the  Treasury  and  the  War 
Departments,  testify  of  that  inimitable  energy, 
that  command  over  all  their  resources,  over  all 


168  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

their  affairs,  which,  in  him,  could  only  cease  when 
the  chill  hand  of  death  arrested  the  powers  of  life. 
His  name  went  before  the  Senate  of  the  United 
States,  as  Justice  of  the  Supreme  Court.  It  failed 
to  receive  their  approval.  That  act  deprived  that 
Bench  of  the  services  of  a  man,  before  whose  in- 
tellect and  labor,  learning  and  independence,  the 
dust  of  decaying  doubt  would  have  been  swept 
aside,  and  there  would  have  been  kept  brilliant 
the  illustrious  record  of  Jay  and  Story  and  Mar- 
shall. 

When  he  was  but  a  young  man,  he  awoke  a 
slumbering  House  of  Representatives  to  all  the 
errors  of  rthe  financial  institution  of  the  nation, 
and  severed  and  scattered  every  disguise  which  an 
infatuated  secret  organization  had  thrown  around 
the  terrible  murder  of  a  citizen. 

There  was  much  of  the  true  reformer  about 
him.  He  knew  the  distinction  that  exists  between 
the  radical  and  the  reformer,  and,  while  he  scorned 
the  ephemera  that  flutter  to  destroy,  he  applied 
the  noble  intellect  that  lived  within  him  to  make 
order  and  beauty  and  simplicity  and  right  to  exist 
where  old  Time  had  accumulated  mere  form  or 
precedent  or  confused  or  costly  or  cumbrous  forms 
of  action. 

If  manuscript  and  type  could  speak,  how  many 
of  the  most  important  statutes  of  the  land,  how 


WHO    GOES    THERE!  169 

many  grave  resolutions,  how  many  important  re- 
ports, how  many  lucid  essays,  how  many  earnest 
editorials,  uttered  in  the  names,  and  issued  under 
the  apparent  ownership  of  others,  would  be  found 
in  that  neat,  small,  perpendicular  handwriting,  — 
that  peculiar  manuscript,  so  condensed,  so  like 
the  work  of  a  careful  master  of  that  great  feather 
in  the 'age's  cap,  the  pen!  Labor  —  labor  —  this 
was  the  motto  of  his  heraldry ;  and  he  gave  his 
tremendous  energies  to  the  work  of  life,  —  to  be 
the  first  in  whatever  department  of  action  that 
labor  was  exercised. 

It  was  said  that  he  was  stern  and  harsh.  It 
may  be  so,  but  I  know  that  his  were  strong  and 
fervid  sympathies  and  emotions.  There  was  an 
hour  when,  in  the  affair  of  the  Somers,  affliction 
came  upon  him  in  its  intense  and  most  bitter  form. 
I  have  a  letter  of  his  before  me,  written  at  that 
time,  in  which  he  says :  "  That  my  reason  has 
been  preserved  to  me,  amidst  this  horrible  calamity, 
is  a  source  of  profound  gratitude." 

There  was  a  great  man  in  action  and  counsel 
while  Mr.  Spencer  lived,  and  I  could  not  observe 
his  career  without  this  record. 

With  Luther  B radish  went  out  the  last  light 
of  the  last  school  of  statesmen.  In  years  he  did 
not  belong  to  it,  and  is  not  to  be  classed  among 
them;  but  he  was,  as  it  were,  a  legacy  from  them 


170  WHO    GOES    THERE  1 

to  teach  us  what  a  thorough  and  undeviating  gen- 
tleman should  do  in  all  the  dusty  walks  of  political 
life.  But,  superb  as  his  manners  were,  and  not 
overwrought,  when  applied  to  the  circumstances 
of  a  parliamentary  career,  he  was  something  more 
and  better  —  much  more  and  better  —  than  an  ex- 
ample of  courtesy.  He  filled  only  subordinate 
parts.  He  was  member  of  Assembly,  Speaker 
of  the  Assembly,  Lieutenant-Governor,  United 
States  Treasurer ;  but  it  was  true  of  him,  as  it  was 
said  of  a  diplomat  who  was  sent  to  some  out-of-the- 
way  station,  and  when  it  was  remarked  that  his 
duties  would  scarcely  amount  to  more  than  the 
sending  one  letter  home  in  a  year :  "  But,"  said 
his  friend,  "how  well  he  sends  home  that  one?" 
There  was  no  more  careful  and  attentive  and  up- 
right gentleman  in  all  the  House,  speaking  at  the 
right  time,  for  the  right  thing,  and  clearly  and 
forcibly.  As  Speaker  and  as  President  of  the 
Senate,  it  is  a  proverb  of  the  Capitol,  when  any- 
thing is  done  admirably,  that  it  is  of  the  school  of 
Luther  Bradish.  The  nation  knew,  in  its  inmost 
heart  of  confidence,  that  its  treasure  was  safe  in 
his  hands.  Even  the  minor  duties  of  life  were 
done  so  well  by  him.  I  recollect  'seeing  him,  as 
one  of  the  wardens  of  Grace  Church,  take  the 
collection.  He  offered  the  plate  with  such  graceful 
courtesy,  as  if  he  said  to  each  one,  "  Will  it, 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  171 

at  this  time,  be  agreeable  to  you  to  make  me  the 
bearer  of  your  chanties  ?  "  In  truth,  he  was  a 
princely  gentleman,  and  princes  may  be  obliged 
to  me  for  the  comparison.  He  gave  his  dignified 
old  age  to  the  presidency  of  the  noblest  of  all 
organizations,  the  American  Bible  Society;  and, 
in  the  fitness  of  things,  lived  worthily  and  well,  in 
body  and  mind,  till  eighty  years  completed  his 
record.  A  charming  conversationist,  he  had  mem- 
ories of  the  East,  of  Europe,  of  the  best  and 
greatest ;  and  to  hear  him  and  Henry  Clay  talk 
together,  as  I  have  done,  was  a  page  of  human 
action  worth  a  journeying  to  enjoy. 

In  a  crowd  of  ten  thousand  men,  Rufus  Choate 
would  have  been  selected  as  possessing  the  look  of 
a  great  man.  There  was  a  grave  genius  about  it, 
which  at  once  attracted.  I  saw  him  repeatedly, 
and  first,  I  recollect,  at  a  party  at  Boston,  or 
rather  a  reception  given  to  President  Tyler,  in 
1843,  during  the  furore  of  the  festival  of  the  laying 
of  the  top-stone  of  the  Bunker  Hill  Monument. 
"The  collector  of  the  port,  or  some  other  official, 
had  borrowed  the  house  of  a  friend  in  which  to 
entertain  the  President ;  and  in  this  crowd,  Mr. 
Choate  mingled,  greatest  of  all.  I  heard  him 
speak  at  the  Baltimore  presidential  nominating 
convention,  nine  years  after  that,  1852,  when  he 
really  wished  to  make  one  of  his  best  speeches, 


172  WHO    GOES    THERE f 

and  when  all  the  physical  circumstances  around 
him  were  propitious  for  it,  —  were  indeed  enough 
to  make  vivid  the  words  of  any  man.  He  was 
put  forth  as  the  leading  man  of  those  who,  at  that 
time,  sougbt  the  nomination  of  Mr.  Webster. 
Though  not  many  in  numbers,  they  were  very 
energetic  and  very  zealous.  1  would  chronicle 
it  as  contribution  toward  the  history  of  the 
times,  how  zealous  and  energetic  and  devoted 
these  men  were.  They  desired  that,  amidst  the 
almost  frantic  excitement  of  that  assemblage,  some 
one  should  rise,  who  should  place  Mr.  Webster's 
right  in  the  strongest  force  of  words,  and  they 
chose  Mr.  Choate.  He  had  the  personal  fitness 
for  such  a  scene.  Tall  and  self-possessed,  with 
a  commanding  voice  and  impressive  action,  and 
all  around  him  a  crowd  in  earnest  expectancy, 
either  of  progress  toward  triumph  from  what  he 
should  say,  or  of  something  to  call  forth  earnest 
answer. 

Mr.  Ashmun  had  just  read  a  report  which  em- 
bodied a  declaration  of  principles,  and  there  were 
loud  cries  for  Choate,  and  he  rose.  He  spoke 
with  eloquence,  worthy  of  his  reputation,  and  was 
heard  with  applause,  which  in  itself  was  worthy 
reward  of  a  life  of  exertion.  It  was  a  superb 
scene.  The  whole  convention  turned  to  the 
speaker.  The  galleries  were  thronged  with  an 


WHO    GOES    THERE*  173 

audience  intently  attentive,  and  the  fervid  language 
of  the  orator  found  its  way  to  their  hearts.  With 
all  his  glowing  eloquence,  he  was  master  of  him- 
self; and  such  a  man  is  usually  master  of  his 
audience. 

Though  it  were  perhaps  better  introduced  in 
another  place  in  this  volume,  I  cannot  omit  a  scene 
that  at  that  time  was  witnessed.  Forty  miles 
thence,  in  a  hotel  at  Washington,  far  away  from 
his  beautiful  Ashland,  Henry  Clay  was  on  his 
death-bed,  close  to  his  dying  day.  In  his  stirring 
life  he  had  often  received  ovations  of  praise  for 
word  and  service,  enough  to  wreath  the  richest 
laurel  that  ever  fell  on  the  head  of  man  ;  but 
never,  in  all  his  brilliant  career,  did  brighter  lustre 
shine  on  his  name,  than  when  Governor  Jones 
pointed  to  his  portrait,  and  the  response  was  given, 
—  such  a  response  as  seemed  the  concentration  of 
the  people's  pulse  of  joy. 

I  saw  Mr.  Choate  when  he  was  a  member  of 
the  Massachusetts  Constitutional  Convention,  —  a 
body  which  ought  to  have  attracted  to  it  the  at- 
tention of  all  who  have  pleasure  in  an  intellectual 
gathering,  but  which,  as  not  including  Everett 
and  other  great  names  of  Massachusetts,  did  not 
present  a  thorough  representation.  I  recollect 
by  what  a  weary  staircase  we  found  our  way  to 
the  place  of  observation,  —  a  long  staircase  with 


174  WHO    G  OES    THERE  ? 

interminable  -succession  of  steps,  with  little,  nar- 
row, inquisition-like  ranges  of  seats.  One  ought 
to  have  heard  the  richest  of  language  to  compen- 
sate. Mr.  Choate  was  not  speaking,  but  listening. 
He  did  that  well.  He  listened  very  attentively  to 
Governor  Marcus  Morton,  who  was  demonstrating 
that  thereafter  there  ought  to  be  no  Council  around 
the  Governor  of  Massachusetts,  but  that  he  ought 
to  stand  alone.  Doubtless  his  argument  was  good, 
but  it  failed  to  convince  Mr.  Choate,  for,  atten- 
tively as  he  listened,  he  voted  against  the  ex- 
governor's  proposition.  Amidst  that  convention 
he  sat,  the  man  of  mark.  I  doubt  whether,  in  all 
the  history  of  his  life,  as  looked  at  from  the  close, 
he  was  fortunate  or  wise  in  having  left  the  arena 
of  the  bar  for  that  of  the  statesman.  In  and  about 
the  law,  in  the  practice  of  its  highest  tribunals, 
and  the  true  argument  of  its  greatest  problems,  he 
was  creating,  indeed  had  created,  a  name  for  him- 
self of  the  first  celebrity  ;  and  it  would -have  been 
greater  fame  to  have  been  recognized  as  head  of 
the  American  lawyers,  rather  than  to  have  been 
known  as  foremost  friend  even  of  Daniel  Web- 
ster. 

In  that  very  beautiful  belt  of  land,  which  is 
about  all  that  the  State  of  New  York  has  pre- 
served to  the  Indian,  —  a  mere  pathway  by  the 
forming  waters  of  the  Alleghany,  —  the  man  who 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  175 

best  deserves  record  and  remembrance  was  the  old 
chief  Blacksnake,  a  very  unprepossessing  name, 
and,  in  justice  to  the  Indians,  perhaps  would  sound 
better  to  us  if  we  could  but  master  the  syllables, 
so  short  and  disconnected,  by  which  they  knew 
him.  He  was  a  wonderful  man,  if  only  for  his 
age ;  for  even  in  all  the  doubts  of  all  great  claims 
to  longevity,  it  seemed  in  proof  that  he  had  passed 
the  hundred  by  several  years.  Those  three  fig- 
ures of  life !  How  few  see  them,  how  very  few 
see  them,  in  possession  of  anything  that  gives  life  its 
value !  The  greater  part  of  those  whose  eyes  be- 
hold the  beauty  of  this  world,  see,  before  their  age 
needs  enumeration  by  more  than  onfe  figure,  the 
glories  of  a  better.  He  was  said  to  be  more  than 
one  hundred  and  eight  years  old.  I  suspect  it  will 
be  well  to  add  the  qualifying  words,  of  a  convey- 
ance of  real  estate,  "  be  the  same  more  or  less." 
His  life  connected  the  majesty  and  misery  of  the 
Indians'  history.  He  was  a  living  man  when,  in 
these  States,  the  Indian  was  a  nation  so  powerful 
that  its  alliance  was  sought ;  and,  what  was  much 
more  practical,  its  power  was  feared  ;  and  that  life 
lingered  on  till  the  Indian  became  a  forgotten  word 
of  the  white  man  —  his  estate  a  mere  reserva- 
tion,—  his  existence  dimly  known  to  the  people. 
He  took  part  in  the  battle  of  Wyoming, —  a  battle, 
with  its  incidents,  made  immortal  in  the  genius  of 


176  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

Campbell,  who  had  faint  ideas  of  Indian  or  of  Sus- 
quehanna  Valley. 

Blacksnake  was  of  singular  beauty  of  form,  and 
would  have  been  the  object  of  great  attention,  if 
he  had  gone  beyond  the  limits  of  the  land  where 
was  the  home  of  his  old  age ;  but  he  bore  his  re- 
tirement with  dignity,  and,  of  his  people,  he  was 
almost  as  much  alone  as  the  pines  in  the  modern 
forest. 

The  Iroquois  keep  up  the  forms  of  their  old  con- 
federacy yet,  though  it  is  but  the  plaid  of  the  clan. 
They  have  their  intricacies  and  policy,  and  the 
chief,  the  Atoharho,  must  yet  be  of  a  particular 
tribe,  and  of -a  special  family  of  that  tribe.  So  the 
Henry  IX.,  the  last  Stuart,  without  any  other  ap- 
pendage of  a  sovereignty,  except  a  disputed  title, 
and  a  pitying  pension,  believed  himself  the  true 
king ;  and  amidst  falling  and  failing  races,  some- 
thing of  the  old  lives  to  make  unhappy  the 
obscurity  of  the  present.  Few  men,  peer  or  peas- 
ant, can  divest  themselves  of  the  idea  that  some- 
thing of  the  past  gives  them  worth,  however 
unrecognized. 

A  few  Indians,  known  to  me,  had  made  the  his- 
tory of  their  own  people  their  study.  Like  as 
among  the  Jews,  in  their  captivity,  the  memories 
of  their  brighter  day  lived  and  glowed  amidst 
their  bondage  ;  so  do  the  traditions  of  the  past 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  177 

dominion  exist  among  the  Iroquois ;  and  there  are 
legends  and  narratives,  not  of  course  in  books,  — 
for  what  but  the  bark  of  the  birch  tree  was  their 
papyrus  ?  —  but,  as  of  old,  uttered  from  the  aged 
to  the  young,  complete  access  to  which  these 
doubly  intelligent  men  alone  possessed. 

I  once  said  to  one  of  these  gentlemen, —  for, 
with  all  their  life,  they  possessed  the  manners  of 
gentlemen, — "  I  can  understand  what  you,  an 
educated  man,  do  with  yourself  in  the  long  winter 
evenings,  for  you  can  do  just  what  we  do,  with 
books ;  but  what  do  your  people,  who  are  not  edu- 
cated, as  you  are,  do  with  themselves  ?  "  "  They," 
said  he,  "  oh,  they  sit  around  the  fire  and  tell 
stories." 

And  this  is  type  of  the  Oriental, —  of  all  those 
who  have  social  intercourse  without  books ;  hence 
the  vast  majority  of  the  history  of  the  world, 
however  little  of  it  may  reach  us,  is  of  and  by, 
tradition. 

The  most  ludicrous  instance  of  civilization 
among  them. that  I  noticed,  was,  while  the  pageant 
of  the  opening  of  the  Erie  Railway  was  passing 
through  the  Reservation,  to  see  an  Indian  in  the 
sunshine  with  an  umbrella  over  his  head, —  the 
delicacy  of  his  complexion  probably  being  in 
danger ! 

It  is  but  a  few  years  since  one  of  these  Indian 

12 


178  WHO     GOES    THERE? 

gentlemen  indicated  how  well  he  could  use  the 
mystic,  figurative  language  of  his  ancestry,  by  the 
following  letter  of  invitation  to  an  Indian  gather- 
ing, which  he  sent  to  me : 

"  My  dear  Friend, —  The  great  A-to-har-ho,  of  the  Onou- 
daga  Nation  of  the  Iroquois  Confederacy,  has  been  here  bear 
ing  a  wampum,  which  he  directed  me  to  send  to  the  western 
door  of  the  Long  House. 

"  The  message  which  the  wampum  bore  was,  that  the 
Grand  Sachem  is  about  to  take  the  ashes  off  the  embers  of 
the  Council  Fire  of  the  Iroquois,  and  that  each  member  of 
the  Grand  Council  must  watch  the  East,  to  see  the  smoke  of 
the  Council  Fire  as  it  first  emerges  from  the  tops  of  the 
forest. 

"  Each  ear  must  be  listening  daily  in  order  to  hear  the 
footsteps  of  the  next  messenger,  who  will  bring  the  string 
with  the  knots  denoting  the  number  of  nights  which  shall 
supervene  before  the  convocation  of  the  Grand  Council. 

"  The  Council  will  be  held  at  the  residence  of  the  Keeper 
of  the.  Council  Fire  at  Onondaga.  It  will  be  held  within  a 
month,  when  all  the  wampums  of  the  Iroquois  Confederacy 
will  be  brought  out,  and  the  traditions  repeated,  according  to 
the  ancient  customs  of  the  confederacy." 

The  day  in  which  our  lot  is  cast  will  not  be  dis- 
severed in  personal  association  from  the  Indian, 
but  it  will  see  him  only  as  one  sees  an  old  picture, 
torn  and  defaced  and  marred.  Not  that  he  was  ever, 
except  in  few  instances,  the  Roman  "  stoic  of  the 
woods,"  as  he  has  been  called.  He  was  a  man  of 


WHO    GOES    THERE  1  179 

few  ideas,  few  resources.  It  was  a  theory  of 
Henry  R.  Schoolcraft,  who  had  made  their  his- 
tory his  special  study,  that  the  Indian,  residing 
amidst  the  recesses  of  the  forest,  believed  in  a 
special  mythology  of  the  woods,—  not  so  much  the 
Pan  and  Dryad,  as  some  sterner  deities  or  phan- 
toms ;  and  it  was  through  fear  of  them  that  he 
was  a  silent  man ;  his  vocabulary  was  limited  by 
his  dread  of  the  unseen. 

I  have  had  an  Indian  pour  into  my  hearing,  in 
low  and  musical  voice,  the  tradition  of  the  creation 
of  the  several  tribes  of  the  Iroquois,  —  the  reve- 
lation that  dispersed  the  original  people,  and  their 
wanderings, —  a  blending  of  the  wild  and  the  gro- 
tesque, but,  as  of  the  ways  of  a  decaying  race, 
very  interesting, —  legends,  in  which  incidents  of 
a  historical  character,  and  the  groundwork  of 
which  is  adopted  by  us  in  our  annals,  mingled  with 
stories  that  seemed  childish  even  for  the  red  man. 

I  remember  when,  after  some  fierce  outbreak  in 
the  then  Far  West,  it  was  deemed  politic,  by  the 
government,  to  show  a  delegation  of  the  Menom- 
inees  what  the  physical  greatness  and  power  of 
the  Atlantic  States  was,  and  these  men  came 
down  State  street  in  a  post-coach.  They  were 
powerful  men,  in  a  degree  that  gave  us  just  idea 
of  what  their  strength  and  force  were  in  their  pri- 
mal day. 


180  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

John  Miller,  of  Truxton,  an  eminent  physician, 
to  whom  I  have  before  alluded,  in  that  part  of  this 
volume  illustrating  Washington,  told  me  that  he 
was  seated  in  the  gallery  of  the  House  of  Repre- 
sentatives, when  his  attention  was  given  to  the 
occurrence  of  a  young  person  engaged  in  conver- 
sation with  the  Speaker.  From  his  boyish  look, 
he  presumed  him  to  be  one  of  the  pages  of  the 
House.  The  interview  was  a  brief  one,  but  it 
was  historic  in  the  annals  of  Congress.  It  was 
when  John  Randolph  presented  himself  to  take 
the  constitutional  oath  of  office,  on  being  elected 
member  of  the  House;  and  when  the  presiding 
officer  asked  him  —  of  course,  in  pleasantry  — 
whether  he  was  of  the  age  defined  by  the  Consti- 
tution, and  Randolph  said,  "  Ask  my  constituents." 

The  spectator  of  the  scene  long  outlived  the 
Virginian  orator.  What  an  orator!  He  could  talk 
for  hours  of  nothing,  and  talk  so  well,  so  beau- 
tifully, that  it  poured  over  the  memory  as  the 
quick,  glittering  water  pours  over  the  agate-strewn 
bed  of  Minnesota's  streams,  indicating  the  precious 
stone,  but  not  bearing  it  on.  He  was  of  those  who 
seemed,  by  instinct,  to  know  the  affairs  over  whose 
elaborate  workings  other  men  must  toil  long  before 
they  obtain  analysis  —  who  was  a  cyclopaedia  in 
knowledge  —  who  had  eye  to  see  the  beautiful  and 
tongue  to  talk  it. 


CHAPTER  V. 

FROM    JOSIAH    QUINCY    TO   THOMAS   MOORE. 


OME  of  the  incidents  I  have  narrated  in 
these  pages  I  gathered  from  the  conversa- 
tion of  Josiah  Quincy,  whose  life  extended 
from  about  1772  to  1860.  When  he 
wrote  in  his  old  age,  at  a  period  when 
most  men  have  their  energies  taxed  to 
keep  their  intellect  together,  the  life  of 
John  Quincy  Adams,  I  thought  it  was  a  question 
of  doubt  which  was  most  interesting,  the  biogra- 
phy or  the  biographer.  He  was  of  Boston  when 
learning  was  a  rare  thing  in  the  republic  and  yet 
found  home  in  Harvard ;  and  when  yet  the  old- 
fashioned  families  of  the  colonial  times  moved  on 
in  brocaded  form.  Lord  Lyndhurst's  father, 
thought  he  had  sold  some  lots  in  Beacon  street  too 
cheaply,  and  made  inquiry  afterward ;  but  Mr. 
Copley  found  that  he  had  discovered  the  value  of 
property  in  Boston  too  late.  Had  his  earlier 
judgment  been  master  of  the  situation,  he  would 
have  been  richer  for  his  old  estate  in  the  "  rebel- 

(181) 


182  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

lious  Town  of  Boston."  Lord  Lyndhurst  and 
Mr.  Quincy  —  associates  in  childhood  —  saw  the 
great  volume  of  life  and  history  open  its  strongest 
pages. 

When  Josiah  Quincy  was  in  Congress,  the  day 
of  fierce  conflict  of  principle  was  in  zenith  fervor, 
and  he  walked  in  the  heat  without  a  shade.  They 
who  took  the  power  knew  his  strength,  whether 
the  blow  was  on  their  armor  or  for  their  cause. 
For  him  to  write  the  history  of  such  a  statesman 
as  was  Mr.  Adams,  was  as  if  Rossini  should  write 
the  history  of  Music.  I  once  saw  Mr.  Quincy 
standing  by  the  base  of  Franklin's  statue,  and 
wished  a  photographist  had  turned  the  gaze  of  the 
sun  where  my  own  was. 

The  last  public  address  I  heard  from  him  was 
in  that  grand  gathering  of  intellectual  men,  which 
made  so  memorable  the  Triennial  Meeting  of  the 
Alumni  of  Harvard  College  in  1858.  1  cannot  for- 
get it.  Mr.  Winthrop  presided ;  at  his  side  was 
Mr.  Quincy,  Lord  Napier,  the  then  Minister  from 
England,  Edward  Everett,  Charles  King,  Motley, 
the  historian,  Felton,  the  man  to  whom  Harvard 
entrusted  safely  its  classics,  Mr.  Holmes,  and  a 
long  line  of  agreeable  and  remarkable  people. 

Far  advanced  beyond  the  fourscore  which  our 
years  reach  only  by  reason  of  strength,  Mr.  Quincy 
was  not  merely  by  his  former  association  with  the 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  183 

college,  but  by  the  great  fact  of  his  mental  and 
•physical  power,  the  most  remarkable  of -all  that 
rare  group,  and  his  speech  was  worthy  of  the 
event.  I  know  that  in  its  sequence  he  gave  me 
the  opportunity  of  proving,  what  indeed  I  had 
not  then  for  the  first  time  to  learn,  the  readiness 
of  Mr.  Everett,  in  the  immediate  answer  or  adapta- 
tion to  a  quick  call  upon  him,  for  reply.  Mr. 
Quincy  alluded  to  the  interesting  recollection  that 
sixty  years  before  that  day,  when,  said  he,  the 
orator  who  has  so  delighted  you  this  morning 
(Mr.  Everett  had  made  the  great  College  address 
of  the  Commencement),  was  but  three  years  old  ; 
he  (Mr.  Q.)>  had  in  that  hall  pronounced  a  dis- 
course. When,  a  brief  period  afterward,  Mr.  Ev- 
erett rose  to  speak,  said  he,  "  My  age  has  been 
somewhat  suddenly  alluded  to  by  the  venerable 
Ex-President  of  the  College,  while  he  was  telling 
you  that  sixty  years  had  elapsed  since  his  address 
was  here  spoken.  Now  I  wish  to  say  to  him  and 
to  you,  gentlemen,  that  the  only  reason  why  I  was 
not  in  this  hall  to  hear  that  address,  was  because  I 
was  but  three  years  old." 

On  this  occasion  (1858),  it  seemed  to  me  that 
it  would  be  difficult,  anywhere  else  in  America,  to 
have  gathered  such  a  collection  of  men  whose 
spoken  or  written  words,  had  made  greater  im- 
pression on  the  age  in  which  they  lived.  Mr. 


184  WHO    GOES    THERE1 

Quincy's  rising  was  met  by  an  unrestrained,  almost 
boisterous,  welcome  from  the  crowd  of  educated 
men  who  filled  the  hall.  They  were  moved, 
swayed,  delighted,  instructed,  counselled,  by  the 
clear  and  wise  words  the  aged  man  uttered.  We 
felt  as  if  the  great  Past  had  arisen  from  its  ashes 
into  its  old  fire. 

I  saw  Mr.  Quincy  last,  at  one  of  the  earlier 
meetings  of  the  Union  Club  of  Boston,  in  De- 
cember, 1863.  On  entering  the  rooms  in  the 
house  which  was  formerly  the  residence  of  Abbott 
Lawrence,  the  first  and  most  interesting  group  1 
witnessed  was  that  of  Mr.  Quincy,  looking  very 
aged  and  infirm,  in  conversation  with  Mr.  Everett. 
He  was  the  object  of  the  most  affectionate  respect 
by  all  gathered  there,  and  as  he  slowly  and  almost 
painfully  walked  into  the  supper-room,  it  was  evi- 
dent that  we  saw  the  closing  shadows  of  that  long 
and  memorable  life. 

And  this  man,  so  much  a  man  of  skill  in  words  and 
literature,  which  are  not  supposed  to  be  especially 
in  alliance  with  the  practical,  added  very  largely 
to  his  fortune  by  his  sagacity  and  financial  courage  ; 
by  §eeing  what  others  did  not  or  would  not  see, 
and  by  taking  a  risk  from  which  others  turned,  and 
about  which  they  made  warning,  after  he  was 
eighty  years  of  age  !  Had  he  not  abundant  other 
material  about  him  for  a  good  and  true  fame,  this 


WHO    GOES    THERE f  185 

would  win  the  world's  attention.  I  knew  another 
gentleman  in  another  city,  a  private  citizen,  who 
lost  a  large  fortune  after  he  had  arrived  at  the 
same  far  advanced  period  of  life,  and  who  took  his 
loss  calmly.  It  went  beyond  the  hundred  thou- 
sand, and  had  every  possible  circumstance  of  an- 
noyance except  the  one  great  fact  that  his  integrity 
was  not  questioned.  He  lived  to  see  himself  again 
classed  among  wealthy  men.  After  eighty  years 
of  age,  how  few  there  are  that  would  meet  quietly 
great  gain  or  loss.  It  illustrates  the  comparative 
longevity  of  ancient  and  modern  times,  that  it  is  at 
this  very  age  —  fourscore  —  that  Barzillai  excused 
himself  from  acceptance  of  King  David's  welcome 
to  the  court  at  Jerusalem,  by  declaring  that  with 
him  the  senses  had  refused  to  recognize  or  know  the 
touch  of  luxury  or  the  voice  of  harmony. 

The  great  age  of  Mr.  Quincy,  with  his  known 
association  with  the  councils  of  the  nation  at  such 
remote  period,  made  him,  I  think,  at  his  death,  the 
most  remarkable  of  all  our  public  men.  We  hear 
of  such  aged  public  men  in  England,  but  find  very 
few  of  them  in  our  own  land  of  greater  frost  and 
hotter  sun. 

Henry  Clay,  of  all  men  in  whose  pathway  in 
life  I  ever  found  myself,  I  saw  so  often,  heard  in 
such  variety  of  speech  and  conversation,  that  I 
find  in  my  own  reminiscence  that  which,  if  it 


186  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

should  not  interest  my  readers,  has  been  to  myself 
a  delight  in  its  reawakening.  He  was  so  dis- 
tinctly the  leader  of  men,  wherever  he  went,  what- 
ever he  did, —  so  broadly  and  boldly  did  it  show 
itself,  so  vivid  was  he  as  he  moved,  and  so  fascinat- 
ing as  he  talked,  so  potent  as  he  spoke, —  that  we 
all  saw  at  once  that,  while  he  belonged  to  us  in 
the  birthright  of  country,  he  would  have  been,  in 
any  country  of  civilization,  of  its  masters  ;  and  all 
this  he  possessed,  all  this  he  displayed,  and  it  stood 
out  from  him,  while  he  was  almost  at  all  times  the 
political  head  but  of  a  minority  of  the  people.  It 
was  the  supremacy  of  the  individual,  of  the  man  in 
and  of  himself, —  not  accreting  to  himself  station, 
but  something  which,  now  that  we  look  at  in  the 
results  of  the  years,  we  can  see  was  more  enduring 
than  any  station.  His  name  is  of  the  household 
names  of  the  nation,  while  it  is  sometimes  neces- 
sary to  refresh  our  memory  by  the  aid  of  statistics 
as  to  the  roll  of  Presidents  ;  yet  he,  with  all  his 
greatness,  never  sa\v  that.  He  could  not,  or 
would  not,  see  that  the  enthusiastic,  the  disinter- 
ested friendship,  the  loyalty  shown  toward  him, 
was  greater  honor,  greater  reward  than  the  certifi- 
cate of  Electoral  Colleges. 

I  first  saw  Mr.  Clay  when  he  was  on  a  tour 
through  Western  New  York,  and  when  he  made  a 
brief  stay  at  Auburn.  That  he  would  probably  be 


WHO    GOES    THERE  f  187 

there  on  the  day  named,  had  been  communicated 
far  and  wide,  and  those  harried  thither  who  could. 
It  was  in  the  time  of  the  coaches  of  Sherwood,  and 
the  supremacy  of  turnpikes.  The  cortege  moved 
slowly,  as  we  should  read  the  word  slow  at  this 
day,  though  in  its  own  time  quite  surely  and  with 
progress.  An  enthusiastic  procession,  self-arranged, 
of  men  devoted  to  him,  were  at  his  side,  having 
adhered  to  him  in  his  welcornings  at  the  line  of 
villages  through  which  he  had  passed.  It  was 
a  hot  day,  and  the  dust  had  risen  to  look  at  the 
orator.  With  all  that  could  be  done  by  the  best- 
hearted  and  most  liberal  friends,  it  was  yet  a  toil- 
some ride.  But  to  hear  and  see  him,  that  crowd 
had  come;  and  giving  him,  as  I  thought,  brief 
respite  to  get  rid  of  the  choking  dust,  he  was  called 
to  a  staging  erected  at  the  American  Hotel ;  and 
then  I  first  saw  him,  tall,  not  graceful  (except 
when  the  magic  of  his  voice  had  won  you  to  be- 
lieve no  man  else  could  be  as  graceful),  hard  in 
features,  but  with  a  look  and  way  that  at  once  re- 
vealed the  man  that  knew  no  superior. 

He  seemed  to  have  had  no  time  given  him  for 
preparation  to  speak.  Indeed,  it  seems  to  me  now 
as  if  the  dust  was  on  him.  He  was  formally  and 
rather  ponderously  addressed  by  a  leading  citizen 
of  Auburn  (Mr.  Bronson),  and  Mr.  Clay  lis- 
tened with  all  dignity  and  orderly  patience ;  the 


188  WHO    GOES    THERE* 

crowd  would  have  preferred  brevity.  He  replied 
ever  so  admirably.  Though  this  was  but  a  way- 
side, unstudied  speech,  it  is  not  forgotten  to  this 
day,  and  some  of  his  gestures  were  themes  of 
especial  admiration.  Of  course  his  address  wras, 
after  pleasant  words  of  gratitude  for  the  welcome 
given  him,  concerning  the  prevalent  political 
themes,  and  therefore  evanescent,  but  at  the  hour 
it  made  the  deepest  impression.  He  delineated 
the  discipline  with  which  the  party  opposed  to  him 
moved.  "  At  the  word  of  command,  if  need  be," 
said  he,  "  they  ground  their  arms ;  "  and  here  he 
dropped  his  hat,  which  he  had  held  in  hand. 
Of  course,  how  this  hat  was  to  be  recovered  by 
him,  without  some  very  awkward  movement,  by  a 
man  so  tall,  was  to  all  of  us  an  object  of  special 
wonder ;  but  in  the  same  figure,  and  in  the  delin- 
eation of  some  other  process  in  the  movement  of  a 
thoroughly  ordered  army,  his  long  arm  swept 
gracefully  down,  and  in  the  fitness  of  the  words 
used,  so  that  it  seemed  precisely  appropriate,  the  hat 
was  regained.  That  occasion  rejoiced  the  whole 
country  around,  and  is  yet  memorable.  Soon  after, 
he  went  to  the  belvidere  on  the  top  of  the  American, 
from  whence  the  view  is  of  a  large  area  of  wealthy 
and  well-cultured  land.  He  enjoyed  this.  Just  about 
that  time,  the  leading  topic  of  political  conversation 
was  the  speech  of  Wm.  C.  Rives,  of  Virginia,  who 


WHO    GOES    THERE f  189 

had  spoken  somewhat  laudatory  of  his  (Mr.  Rives') 
farm  of  five  thousand  acres,  at  Castle  Hill.  Mr. 
Clay,  looking  somewhat  disdainfully,  making  the 
gesture,  in  him  always  so  expressive, —  the  stretch- 
ing out  his  arm, —  said,  as  he  looked  at  the  beauti- 
ful farms  that  lay  almost  beneath  him,  "  I  would 
not  give  one  thousand  acres  of  this  land  for  all  his 
five  thousand  at  Castle  Hill." 

He  seemed  to  me,  as*I  saw  him  alone,  not  ani- 
mated. It  may  have  been  the  fatigue,  or  it  may 
have  been  of  his  characteristic,  to  illuminate  only 
under  the  influence  of  numbers  around  him.  His 
use  of  snuff  seemed  to  me  immoderate.  Since 
Scott,  in  that  delightful  book,  the  Pirate,  makes 
the  poet  of  Burgh  Weston,  Claud  Halcro,  to  re- 
joice, as  a  choice  reminiscence,  that  he  filled  the 
snuffbox  of  "  glorious  John  Dryden,"  I  am  not 
sure  but  that  a  similar  service  to  the  statesman  is 
"  not  to  be  sneezed  at." 

In  the  evening  a  reception  was  given  him  at  the 
residence  of  Governor  Seward,  and  there  he  was  in 
high  state  of  animation,  delighting  men  as  he  ever 
did.  I  recollect  one  remarkable  expression  which 
he  used.  He  was^ alluding  to  one  of  the  occasions 
on  which  his  name  had  been  in  the  Presidential  can- 
vass. "  I  received,"  said  he,  "  a  tremendous  defeat ; 
but  my  measures,  my  measures  all  triumphed !  " 

I  believe  I  next  saw  him  at  Albany,  in  the  City 


190  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

Hall,  addressing  the  young  men,  and  acknowledg- 
ing the  gift  of  a  superb  blue  cloth  cloak,  which  be- 
came his  form  admirably.  I  remember  the  exulta- 
tion with  which  the  man  who  made  it  stood  by  and 
saw  the  affair.  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  record  that 
that  superb  garment  was  stolen  from  Mr.  Clay  a 
few  days  afterward;  a  circumstance  which,!  think, 
he  ought  to  have  considered  as,  at  least,  amrmg  the 
lesser  griefs  of  his  chequered  destinies. 

Years  passed  on,  and  he  had  been  candidate 
for  the  Presidency  in  1844, —  a  year  whose  history 
might  be  written,  a  most  interesting  chapter  in  our 
political  annals.  That  is  not  for  this  volume. 
Suffice"  it  to  say,  that  it  was  distinguished  by  a 
personal  devotion  never  before  given  in  this  coun- 
try to  any  man,  and  never  since  —  losing  the  char- 
acteristics of  a  political  adherence  in  the  grander, 
though  perhaps  less  sagacious,  attributes  of  loyal 
fidelity.  More  men  worked  and  voted  for  Mr. 
Clay  in  that  year  disinterestedly, — just  because 
they  were  for  him  above  and  outside  of  all  other 
considerations, —  than  the  annals  of  this  country 
record  in  case  of  any  other  man.  It  was  a  personal 
attachment,  as  intense  as  that  of  the  Highlanders 
to  Prince  Charlie. 

But  all  this  is  out  of  the  intent  of  this  work. 
He  had  grown  older,  and  vicissitudes  had  left  their 
mark  upon  his  frame  ;  but  when  he  entered  Syra- 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  191 

cuse,  a  guest  of  the  New  York  State  Agricultural 
Society,  the  grand  old  man  was  in  all  his  individ- 
ual power  over  all  around  him.  And  all  over  the 
State,  the  attraction  of  travel  toward  the  State 
Fair  became  potent,  as  the  word  spread  every- 
where that  Henry  Clay  was  to  be  there.  His  name 
had,  as  the  old  Scotch  ballad  sings,  "  music  in  it." 

Mr.  Clay's  reception  at  the  State  Agricultural 
Fair  held  at  Syracuse,  in  1849,  was  of  those  chap- 
ters in  life  which  he  who  reads  cannot  forget,  nor 
is  this  forgotten.  It  is  the  chosen,  cherished  recol- 
lection of  many  hearts,  for  it  combined  the  inci- 
dents of  a  widely  enthusiastic  welcome  unto  one 
who,  though  he  held  neither  station  nor  power, 
was  regarded  by  all  as  worthy  of  all  they  could 
do  or  could  say  for  him  and  to  him.  No  vision  of 
future  gift  or  grant  or  place  gilded  this  reception. 
It  was  the  Americanization  of  the  loyalty  which  in 
other  days  and  countries  clung  around  the  Stuart  — 
was  faithful  to  the  death  to  name  and  lineage. 

Syracuse,  a  busy  and  advancing  city,  reversing 
the  fate  that  befell  the  disobedient  wife  of  old  time, 
turning  itself  from  salt  to  life,  was  thronged  ;  rail 
and  road  and  canal  had  exhausted  all  their  facili- 
ties in  bringing  together  THE  PEOPLE,  from  the  hour 
that  it  was  known  Henry  Clay  was  to  be  there. 
He  had  been  specially  invited  by  the  officers  of 
the  society,  at  whose  head  were  John  A.  King, 


192  WHO    GOES    THERE! 

afterward  Governor  of  the  State,  and  Benjamin 
P.  Johnson,  the  man  who,  beyond  all  others,  has 
rendered  highest  service  to  the  agriculture  of  the 
country.  Mr.  Clay  had  accepted  the  invitation, 
and  playfully  remarked,  as  he  consented,  "  I  shall 
be  the  biggest  ox  on  the  ground." 

The  Fair  soon  became  the  picture  of  the  one 
man  and  of  the  crowd, —  of  a  vast  mass  of  intelli- 
gent, independent  men,  giving  themselves  gladly 
to  the  watch  around  him,  to  cheer  him,  to  talk  of 
him,  to  rally  around  him,  and  in  their  own  good- 
hearted,  enthusiastic  way,  utterly  to  defeat  all  his 
purposes  of  looking  at  the  incidents  and  collections 
of  the  Fair.  It  was  the  welcome  of  rural  New 
York  to  Henry  Clay,  and  all  else  was  forgotten  : 
all  else  remembered  was  blended  in  some  way  with 
that. 

His  arrival  was  the  great  event  of  the  day.  The 
station  was  circled  by  a  crowd  whose  enthusiasm, 
when  he  did  come,  would  heed  no  restraint.  The 
barouche,  in  which  he  was  conveyed  to  the  home 
prepared  for  him,  could  with  difficulty  find  way  ; 
the  stirring,  energetic  voice  of  Governor  King  was 
exerted  to  make  itself  heard  in  the  tumult,  as  he 
begged  them  to  give  a  road  for  the  gallant  Harry. 
I  so  well  recollect  this  scene.  Mr.  Clay  was  of  all 
men  most  fitted  for  such  incidents,  for  he  had  a 
word  of  kindness  or  courtesy  or  wit  for  all. 


WHO    GOES    THERE f  193 

It  was  in  vain  for  him  to  attempt  a  careful  scru- 
tiny of  the  exhibition.  The  crowd  allowed  no 
such  thing.  They  massed  around  him,  and  wher- 
ever he  went,  it  was  their  most  sovereign  pleasure 
to  accompany  him.  From  tent  to  tent,  from 
sheep  to  oxen,  from  implement  to  picture,  if  Mr. 
Clay  desired  to  see,  that  desire  must  yield  to  the 
greater,  of  being  seen.  I  recollect  being  near  him 
as  a  daguerreotype  of  himself  (for  the  advance  to 
photography  was  not  yet)  was  brought  out  to  the 
carriage  and  shown  to  him.  Instantly  he  saw  it 
he  said,  so  wittily,  "  Horribly  like  me  !  "  Every- 
where in  the  street,  or  in  the  Fair  grounds,  was 
this  enthusiasm  shown,  till  I  heard  him  say,  "Well, 
gentlemen,  let  us  go  home ;  we  can  do  that,  when 
we  can  do  nothing  else." 

At  his  lodging,  it  was  necessary,  in  regard  to  his 
peace,  and  in  reference  to  preserving  him  un- 
harmed amidst  the  storm  of  kindness,  to  establish 
a  friendly  quarantine,  and  not  to  permit  an  indis- 
criminate entrance.  The  claims  for  a  special  in- 
terview were  sometimes  touching  in  their  devotion. 
Men  who  lived  afar  off,  and  in  districts  where  the 
vast  preponderance  of  political  opinion  had  been 
always  against  Mr.  Clay,  and  they  alone  had  kept 
his  flag  flying, —  such  men  begged  that  they  might 
go  in  to  see  him ;  for  it  was  to  see  him  that  their 
journey  had  been  made,  and  to  speak  with  him 

13 


194  wo    GOES    THERE f 

was  the  reward  of  a  lifetime.  They  were  admitted, 
and  they  were  recompensed. 

Mr.  Webster  once  said,  "  I  would  like  to  know 
what  sort  of  people  are  your  people  of  Western 
New  York,  that  they  are  so  devoted  to  Mr.  Clay  ?  " 

But  this  crowd  would  not  be  content  with  see- 
ing him.  They  must  hear  that  voice,  whose  music 
had  been  the  harmony  of  the  nation  in  a  career  of 
eloquence.  They  were  determined  to  hear  him 
speak,  and  so  they  besieged  the  doors,  blocked  up 
the  windows,  kept  all  the  fresh  air  out,  until  some 
of  his  considerate  and  merciful  friends  suggested 
that  he  should  satisfy  the  desire  of  the  people  by  a 
brief  address.  He  proceeded  to  the  north  balcony 
of  the  Syracuse  House  ;  and  around  the  house  the 
eager  crowd  gathered  itself,  wildly  welcoming  the 
grand  old  man  as  he  stepped  in  front,and,  with  the 
already  kindling  eye,  looked  out  on  the  multitude 
of  friends  —  yes  of  friends.  He  had  no  office  to 
give,  no  place  to  promise.  He  was  never  to  be 
anything  more  or  higher  than  he  had  been.  The 
welcome  to  him  was  to  the  powerless,  but  it  was 
the  proudest  that  could  form  the  voice  of  fame.  I 
recollect  at  the  time  being  delighted  with  the 
speech,  as  up  to  his  reputation.  Indeed,  in  my 
experience  of  his  oratory,  I  think  that  was  of  the 
most  attractive.  He  alluded  to  his  being  an  old 
man,  gray-headed,  worn  out.  But  when  he  said 


WHO   GOES    THERE  1  195 

that,  the  crowd  denied  :  "  No,  no !  you  are  good 
for  fifty  years  yet."  He  said  (I  do  not  believe  he 
meant  this)  that-  he  had  hoped  to  have  passed 
through  the  State  quietly,  unobserved,  unrecog- 
nized ;  and  here  again  the  cry  met  him,  "  You 
can  never  do  that." 

Said  he  :  "  When  I  go  back  to  Kentucky,  I  ex- 
pect to  attend  an  agricultural  fair  there.  My 
friends  will  crowd  around  me,  and  they  will  say  to 
me,  4  O  Mr.  Clay,  you  have  been  at  the  great 
State  Fair  of  New  York.  Come,  tell  us  all  about 
it,  —  tell  us  of  the  Devons,  and  the  Durhams,  and 
the  Herefords.'  And  I  shall  tell  them,  '  I  saw  no 
Devon,  I  saw  no  Durham,  no  Hereford.  I  saw 
nothing  '  "  —  and  here  he.  used  that  great  circle 
of  a  gesture,  which  only  his  arm  could  effect  in 
grace,  —  "  '  I  saw  nothing  but  the  people.' ' 

All  this  was  a  scene  not  to  be  obliterated.  The 
young  city  would  be  reluctant  to  lose  it  from  its 
annals.  It  left  its  traces  in  the  memories  of  men, 
who,  to  this  hour,  as  they  will  to  their  latest,  pre- 
serve it,  as  the  owner  of  precious  stones  his  treas- 
ures. 

The  city  was  more  than  crowded.  It  was  over- 
flowing, —  it  was  saturate  with  people.  All  the 
devices  of  remunerated  entertainment  and  gener- 
ous hospitality  were  poured  forth.  In  Mr.  Clay's 
suite  were  the  Vice  President,  Mr.  Filmore,  Gov- 


196  WHO     GOES    THERE? 

ernor  Hamilton  Fish,  Mr.  King,  Mr.  Granger,  the 
brave  old  soldier,  Solomon  Van  Rensselaer,  all 
exulting  in  the  welcome  given  to  their  chief. 

Some  of  my  readers  may  say  to  themselves,  "  Is 
this  warm  portraiture  of  the  progress  of  Mr.  Clay 
real,  or  is  it  colored  by  a  partisan  feeling  ?  "  I 
think  I  can  answer  them,  that  I  have  written  this 
historically,  in  the  wish  to  convey,  if  I  can,  a  just 
idea  of  the  feeling  that  existed  toward  this  ex- 
traordinary man.  His  personal  fascination  was 
irresistible.  Faults,  deep  and  grievous,  he  indeed 
had.  His  life  had  written  lines,  which,  dying,  he 
might  wish  to  blot.  There  were  fractures  and 
flaws  in  the  line  of  light.  To  my  thought,  it  was 
always  painful  that  Mr.  Clay  did  not  hear  the 
clarion  sound  of  his  own  fame  ;  that  it  was  far 
above  the  temporary  shout  to  the  political  victor 
of  the  day  ;  that  to  him  was  accorded  the  greatest 
of  all  rewards,  —  the  disinterested  love  of  men. 

Well,  if  the  people  of  Western  New  York 
were,  as  Mr.  Webster  thought,  strangely  attached 
to  Mr.  Clay,  let  us  palliate  it  by  the  reflection  that 
he  wielded  over  all  men  authority  by  a  power, 
which  is  a  gift  so  rarely  bestowed  upon  men,  that 
its  record  comes  to  us  in  history  only  as  the  illu- 
minated letter  in  the  missal,  at  the  head  of  chap- 
ters, and  those  chapters  do  but  symbolize  centuries. 
Remember,  too,  that  Mr.  Clay  possessed  the  gla- 


WHO    GOES    THERE ?  197 

mour,  not  only  in  the  public  address,  glowing  and 
glittering  in  the  light  of  an  admiring  audience, 
but  in  his  conversation,  in  that  way  by  which  he 
took  the  hearts  of  men,  even  while  their  judgment 
refused  to  go  with  their  hearts.  Even  analyzed, 
true  feeling  will  not  grow  cold.  Governor  Seward 
admirably  said  that  Mr.  Clay  held  the  key  which 
fitted  the  wards  of  every  man's  heart. 

But  whoever  wished  not  to  be  fascinated  by  Mr. 
Clay  must  not  have  encountered  him  in  the  brill- 
iancy of  social  intercourse.  There  he  was  of  that 
rarest  class  of  men,  whose  conversation  is  a  .de- 
light, and  yet  Mr.  Clay  was  not  a  learned  or  ac- 
complished man.  He  could  not  quote  the  classics 
in  correctness.  He  knew  so  little  of  music,  that 
when,  at  the  ratification  of  the  Treaty  of  1814—15, 
the  authorities  at  Ghent  wished  to  serenade  the 
American  Commissioners  by  their  national  air,  the 
application  for  its  score  was  made  in  vain  both  to 
Mr.  Clay  and  Mr.  Adams,  and  all  that  enabled 
the  band  of  the  Flemish  city  to  acquit  themselves 
successfully  in  Yankee  Doodle  was  that  Mr. 
Clay's  colored  servant  whistled  it  for  the  leader. 

But  Mr.  Clay  had  something  in  conversation 
that  was  in  the  place  of  study  and  of  music,  —  he 
had  the  indescribable  manner  that  at  once  enthralled. 
It  was  the  glamour  of  his  way,  —  it  was  fascination. 

Mr.  Phoenix  of  New  York,  then  residing  in  one 


198  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

of  the  houses  near  the  Battery,  gave  Mr.  Clay  a 
superb  entertainment.  It  was,  I  believe,  in  the 
very  last  visit  which  he  ever  made  to  New  York. 
The  dinner-party  included  Governor  Bradish,  Dr. 
Wainwright,  and  other  gentlemen,  with  a  brilliant 
representation  of  ladies. 

Mr.  Clay  entered  the  drawing-room  with  a  pres- 
ence that  at  once  attracted  every  one  to  his  obser- 
vation. A  tall,  old  man,  in  the  years  near  the 
threescore  and  ten,  his  step  and  tread  was  like  that 
of  a  sovereign.  He  came  in  with  an  impressive 
manner  that  would,  in  another  man,  have  been 
sensational.  In  him,  it  was  so  graceful  in  all  its 
grandeur,  that  it  gratified  while  it  absorbed  us  ; 
and,  from  that  moment  to  the  hour  when  he  took 
his  leave,  no  one  but  himself  was  in  the  thought 

7  O 

or  attention  of  all.  He  had  no  rival,  not  even  with 
the  very  agreeable  young  ladies  who  were  present, 
and  who,  with  just  appreciation,  found,  of  all  men, 
this  homely  old  man  the  most  delightful. 

Yes,  this  homely  old  man,  —  for  the  physical 
features  of  Mr.  Clay's  face  were  hard  and  forbid- 
ding,, but  the  picture  needed"  only  the  light  to 
reveal  it.  His  thought  and  word  soon  made  that 
face  the  one  to  which  all  concentrated  gaze. 

He  was  in  admirable  spirits,  talked  with  ani- 
mation, illustrated  whatever  subject  was  presented 
to  him,  and  enjoyed  everything,  pleasantly  par- 


WHO    GOES    THERE*  199 

ticipating  in  the  abundant  hospitality,  and  at  the 
close  of  the  dinner  complimenting  his  host  as  only 
Mr.  Clay  could  have  done.  The  day  previous  he 
had  dined  with  Stephen  Whitney.  "  Mr.  Phcenix," 
said  he,  "  when  I  think  of  this  superb  dinner  you 
have  given  me  to-day,  and  the  equally  elegant 
dinner  I  enjoyed  with  Mr.  Whitney  yesterday,  I 
am  not  sure,  sir,  but  that  it  is  my  duty  immedi- 
ately I  take  my  seat  at  Washington  to  propose  a 
sumptuary  law." 

He  seemed  to  take  it  very  kindly  that  one  of  the 
guests  had  recently  read  and  remembered  an  ar- 
gument he  had  made  in  the  Supreme  Court  of  the 
United  States,  and  would  at  intervals  allude  to  it 
in  the  course  of  the  evening.  Probably  he  be- 
lieved it  was  only  his  political  speeches  that  men 
would  read. 

1  recollect  Mr.  Bradish  asked  him  who  was  the 
Henry  Adams,  whose  name  appears  with  the  other 
British  commissioners,  at  Ghent.  "  Oh,  Henry 
Adams,"  said  he,  "he  was  a  dry  equity  lawyer." 

He  considered  Earl  Gray  to  have  been  the  most 
eloquent  man  whom  he  heard  in  the  English  debates. 

But  it  is  not  by  fragments  of  his  conversation 
that  I  remember  that  occasion  so  well.  It  was  the 
one  pervading  effect  of  his  irresistible  manner,  — 
not  at  all  guarded,  nor  yet  boisterous,  but  with 
such  heartiness,  such  strength  all  the  while,  and- 


200  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

so  utterly  different  from  that  of  all  other  men,  — 
that  his  influence  became  a  stream  which  like  the 
fairy  view  impelled  you  to  go  with  it ;  and  while 
I  do  not  recollect  all  that  he  said,  the  effect  was 
too  vivid  to  pale  with  the  retreating  years. 

And  he  could  keep  up  this  brilliant  festive  way. 
Returning  from  the  dinner,  he  went  to  the  house 
whose  hospitalities  had  been  offered  to  and  ac- 
cepted by  him,  the  residence  of  Egbert  Benson, 
in  Warren  street,  —  a  thoroughfare  not  then,  as 
now,  devoted  to  business.  Here  it  had  been  ar- 
ranged to  give  to  him  a  serenade,  and  accordingly 
in  a  short  time  a  great  crowd  of  gentlemen,  with 
one  of  the  selected  bands  of  New  York,  were 
gathered  around  the  door.  If  a  great  crowd  in 
the  night  in  the  streets  of  a  city  is  a  mob,  then 
never  has  New  York  seen  so  selected  a  mob.  It 
was  his  eager,  anxious,  devoted  friends,  and  he 
had  neither  place  nor  office  to  bestow.  Mr.  Ull- 
man  was  the  master  of  the  ceremony,  and  he  con- 
jured the  crowd  to  be  calm.  "  Have  patience,  gen- 
tlemen," said  he,  u  have  patience,  and  you  shall 
see  the  idol  of  your  souls."  Meanwhile,  amidst  the 
darkness,  but  a  few  lights  shone,  —  for  there  was 
none  of  the  sensational  accompaniments  of  pyro- 
techny,  —  the  music  so  exquisitely  played,  the  air 
we  all  knew  so  well  in  1844,  —  "  Here's  to  you, 
Harry  Clay ; "  after  some  time  the  hall-door 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  201 

opened,  and  with  friends  at  his  side,  holding  large 
astral  lamps,  so  that  he  could  be  distinctly  and 
most  picturesquely  seen,  Mr.  Clay  advanced,  and 
then  the  almost  midnight  air  rung  with  the  cheers 
of  heart-given  voice.  The  acknowledgment  was 
rapturously  received.  When  he  paused,  there  were 
cries  for  him  to  proceed.  "  You  cry,  go  on,"  said 
he ;  u  that  is  easy  for  you  to  say,  but  where  am  I 
to  get  the  ammunition  ?  "  All  -these  words,  it  may 
be,  look  tame  enough  on  paper,  but  in  that  scene, 
said  as  he  said  them,  and  heard  as  we  heard  them, 
they  were  electric.  That  sweet  serenade  ceased, 
and  the  gratified  gentlemen  dispersed,  and  I  be- 
lieve as  Mr.  Clay's  form  faded  into  the  hall,  it 
was  the  last  I  ever  saw  of  that  wonderful  man,  to 
whom  above  all  others  I  felt  what  must  be  meant 
by  the  word,  loyalty,  —  the  willingness  to  do  all 
for  him  with  only  the  reward  of  the  pleasure  of 
having  so  done.  When  next  I  was  near  him,  it 
was  when  he  was  a  dying  man  at  a  hotel  in  Wash- 
ington. President  he  never  was,  but  Ruler  he 
always  was. 

Several  years  after  Mr.  Clay  died,  I  found,  being 
at  Cincinnati,  that  the  completion  of  the  Coving- 
ton  and  Lexington  railroad  placed  within  the  easy 
control  of  a  few  hours'  journey,  Lexington,  a 
city  near  which  most  of  the  private  life  of  Mr. 
Cfey  had  been  passed,  and  which  will  ever  remain. 


202  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

of  the  deepest  interest  to  every  one  who  is  grate- 
ful that  his  country  produced  such  a  man,  and 
most  of  all  to  those  whose  best  energies  were  given 
to  his  fortunes,  and  who  feel  that  the  hour  which 
took  him  from  the  field  of  politics  removed  the 
only  man  that  in  this  century  possessed  the  per- 
sonal, disinterested  love  of  a  great  number  of  the 
American  people,  —  a  joy  in  him,  which  was  to 
him  a  devotion,  the  like  to  which  none  other  man 
on  this  side  the  Atlantic  ever  woke  in  the  people. 
Lexington,  as  containing  in  its  vicinage  Ashland, 
would  have  been  fit  pilgrimage,  even  in  the  days 
of  coach  and  turnpike,  —  how  much  more  now 
when  the  car,  with  the  comfort  of  a  parlor  and  the 
speed  of  a  bird,  is  the  transit ! 

To  reach  the  Covington  Road  is  the  difficulty 
and  the  dilemma  of  the  journey.  Snugly  as  to 
the  appearance,  the  streets  of  Cincinnati  and  Cov- 
ington fit  each  other,  when  one  comes  to  test  the 
union  of  these  lines,  the  deep  valley  of  the  river 
changes  the  affair  materially.  To  accommodate 
this  fluctuating  Ohio  River,  —  this  alternation  of  a 
deep  deluge  and  moist  sand,  —  the  broad  inclined 
plane  remains  without  any  line  of  street.  The 
descending  omnibus  was  shaken  and  tossed,  and 
quivering  on  the  line  of  balance  that  tested  the 
tenure  of  the  four  wheels,  its  passengers  found  the 
passage  a  very  rough  one,  and  we  listened  kindly 


WHO    GOES    THERE f  203 

and  approvingly  to  the  promises  of  a  suspension 
bridge,  which  should  end  all  such*  adventurous 
climbings. 

The  road  once  gained,  brought  us  safely  and  easily 
and  smoothly  through  a  rich  country,  to  the  stead- 
fast, solid,  and  respectable  old  city  of  Lexington,  so 
called  because  the  companions  of  Daniel  Boone 
heard  in  their  far-off  wilderness  exploration  of  the 
eventful  hour  which  at  the  Lexington  of  Massa- 
chusetts opened  the  great  gate  of  modern  progress. 

We  saw  Kentucky  field  and  forest,  —  the  former 
glowing  in  a  depth  and  richness  of  verdure  that 
seemed  the  very  gala  day  of  the  spring,  and  the 
latter  in  a  glory  of  great  trees,  each  in  its  own 
strength  and  height,  scattered  in  such  varied  beauty 
of  position  as  would  have  thrilled  Downing's  heart, 
and  each  as  clear  of  underbrush  as  though  the 
forest  had  been  the  park. 

At  Lexington  we  drove  to  the  Phoanix  hotel, 
and  at  its  portal  the  landlord  met  us  like  a  stout 
host  of  the  olden  time. 

"  We  reached  the  hall-door  where  the  charger  stood  near." 

He  was  there  to  welcome  us,  and  in  a  way  of 
hearty,  genial  manner,  that  had  associations  of  the 
Tabard  and  of  Chaucer.  We  soon  made  arranger 
ment  for  going  to  the  place  which  was  the  heart 
of  our  journey,  Ashland.  We  found  Lexington 


204  WHO    GOES    THERE  1 

old-fashioned  and  rather  quiet,  but  with  a  look  of 
good  order.  It  was  soon  passed  through,  and  a 
ride  of  about  a  mile  brought  us  to  the  place,  which 
at  least,  while  this  generation  remains,  will  be  a 
household  word.  I  did  not  expect  to  find  Ash- 
land so  near  the  city.  I  thought  that  Mr.  Clay 
when  he  spoke  of  his  neighbors  in  the  city  of  Lex- 
ington, took  the  word  in  the  large-spaced  sense, 
in  which  rural  gentlemen  speak  of  those  who 
live  in  their  vicinage.  The  pleasant  old  city  may, 
in  the  changing  fortunes  of  time,  decay  and  fade, 
but  its  suburb  secures  it  a  place  in  history.  The 
landlord  told  us  that  it  was  Mr.  Clay's  in\aria- 
ble  practice  to  go  home  from  the  city  at  twelve 
o'clock. 

Our  carriage  was  driven  up  a  short  avenue,  and 
as  we  alighted,  there  was  an  immediate  contest  of 
feeling  between  the  practical  and  the  thoughtful. 
The  old  house,  the  Ashland,  as  it  WAS  the  resi- 
dence of  the  home-life  of  Henry  Clay,  was  gone. 
A  new,  well-built,  handsome  mansion  was  in  its 
place,  —  and  that  of  itself  anywhere  would  be 
attractive.  It  had  the  plan,  the  outside  look,  the 
form  in  body  and  wings,  of  the  house  to  which  the 
heart  had  been  pilgrimage,  but 

"  He's  not  the  true  king  for  a'  that." 
It  was  not  the  house  of  Henry  Clay.     Of  course 


WHO    GOES    THERE  f  205 

0 

the  owner  had  the  right  to  manage  the  estate  as 
his  judgment  counselled  ;  yet  I  think  he  owed  it  to 
such  a  father  to  let  that  house  stand  while  beam 
and  rafter  would  bind.  It  might  burn  down,  blow- 
down,  crush  in  or  crumble  out, —  that  would  have 
been  the  same  touch  of  time  that  effaces  all  things  ; 
but  the  nation  did  ask,  did  hope  that  the  house 
whence  Henry  Clay  had  so  often  departed  on  mis- 
sion of  eloquent  word  and  statesman  act,  would 
remain.  The  superb  grounds  of  Ashland  pro- 
vided many  most  eligible  situations  for  new  and 
luxurious  dwellings.  It  would  have  been  but  kind 
to  the  friends  of  Mr.  Clay  to  have  given  the  old 
house  to  alternate  storm  and  sunshine  for  the  years, 
as  they  were  on  the  silver-voiced  old  man.  But 
the  regrets  were  vain.  The  house  of  association 
was  off  the  land  and  this  elegant  new  one  was  in 
its  place. 

Thanks  to  that  man  who  invented  the  words 
real  estate,  the  soil  could  not  be  taken  away.  In 
all  its  matchless  beauty  of  tree  and  lawn  and  field 
and  glade  and  garden,  Ashland  existed,  more 
lovely  than  our  hope  or  thought  of  it  had  created, 
and  just  such  a  surrounding  of  the  lovely  as  could 
instruct  in  its  symbol  language  the  tongue  of  the 
orator.  These  were  the  earth- written  memories 
of  Henry  Clay.  It  was  in  this  delightful  scenery 
that  his  home-life  had  passed.  This  land  was  his 


206  WHO    GOES    THERE* 

home.  It  cannot  be  changed,  and,  once  seen,  is 
not  to  be  forgotten.  The  residents  of  the  house  were 
absent,  but  the  courtesy  of  the  attendants  permit- 
ted us  to  wander  over  the  lawns  and  take  closer 
look  at  the  superb  trees.  As  we  were  not  invited 
to  the  garden  by  any  proper  authority,  we  did  not 
bear  away  any  floral  souvenir,  but  we  secured 
some  of  the  grasses  and  some  ash,  out  of  which 
the  cunning  of  the  graver  should  fabricate  some 
memorial  of  the  day.  In  this  soil  I  could  see  some 
reason  for  the  ardent  home-love  which  has  so  dis- 
tinguished the  people  of  this  State. 

A  bright,  manly  little  fellow  rode  up  the  lawn 
on  his  black  pony.  It  needed  but  a  glance  at  his 
face,  and  the  resemblance  was  so  apparent,  so  truth- 
ful, so  much  like  him,  that  we  at  once  exclaimed, 
"  The  Mill-Boy  of  the  Slashes  I  "  The  incident 
was  delightful.  It  was  looking  back  upon  a  page 
of  closed  time,  with  a  truthfulness  which  we  can- 
not forget.  I  have  seldom  seen  such  accuracy  of 
resemblance  as  this  grandson  bore  to  his  illustrious 
lineage. 

O 

We  found  the  space  allotted  by  that  resistless 
fate,  the  railway's  time-table,  too  short,  for  Ash- 
land grew  upon  our  liking.  It  had,  in  its  natural 
features,  all  we  could  have  asked  for  it  to  furnish 
us  in  confirmation  of  the  mind's  picturing.  A 
place  it  was  to  which  a  statesman  might  go  to  re- 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  207 

invigorate  the  mind  chafed  by  the  strife  of  the 
patriot  in  the  struggle  of  that  contest  that  ever 
will  be  between  the  noble-hearted  and  the  untrue. 

We  took  from  the  gates  of  Ashland  the  keenest 
regret  that  the  views  of  the  country  and  of  the 
proprietor  of  the  estate  could  not  have  harmonized 
in  the  preservation  of  the  house,  but  consoled  to 
our  very  heart  by  the  conviction  that  the  fields 
and  flowers'  and  trees,  Tie  had  loved  so  well,  had 
perpetual  home  of  beauty. 

And  now,  when  the  scale  of  just  discrimination 
of  his  worth,  just  appreciation  of  his  power,  just 
estimate  of  his  genius  comes  to  that  fair  poise  when 
history  makes  up  the  record,  the  shadows  of  cal- 
umny and  opposition  and  wrong,  that  once  were 
so  dense  around  him,  are  breaking  away.  We 
must  moderate  our  fear  of  present  injustice  by  re- 
membering that  truth  is  a  distant  magnet,  but  it  is 
a  sure  one.  It  will  draw  to  it  the  right  and  the 
honorable.  Let  every  public  man  remember  that, 
to  his  earthly  career,  something  of  the  great  rule 
of  Christian  conduct  belongs.  It  is  the  far-off  end 
that  makes  the  quiet  of  the  present  hour.  It  was 
the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century  before  Ma- 
caulay  rose  to  enshrine  in  its  truth  the  man  and 
the  results  of  the  Revolution  of  1688. 

The  grandeur  of  Mr.  Clay's  public  service  some- 
body will  yet  be  found  truly  to  delineate  ;  and  so, 


208  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

in  writing  of  his  home,  we  take  up  the  old  refrain, 
"  Here's  to  you,  Harry  Clay  ! " 

There  must  have  been  something  of  the  prophetic 
in  Washington  Irving's  thought  when  he  gave  to 
his  home,  on  the  eastern  shore  of  the  Hudson,  the 
appellation  of  Sunnyside ;  for,  so  far  as  we  see., 
who  only  judge  by  the  surface,  it  was  a  pleas- 
ant and  a  prosperous  abiding-place  ever ;  and  the 
judgment  of  the  transient  observer  seems  con- 
firmed by  the  record  of  his  life,  as  his  biographer 
has  memorialized  it.  Yet  he  won  it  after  years, 
many  years  of  cares  and  of  vicissitudes,  and  the 
Sunnyside  of  the  river  was  that  to  which  he,  like 
almost"  all  other  men,  attained  only  after  crossing 
the  agitated  and  troubled  tide. 

I  had  some  opportunities  of  personally  observing 
him,  and  had  the  good  sense  to  know  that  they 
were  worthy  of  being  improved,  as  far  as  good 
manners  would  permit.  His  early  writings  flowed 
into  the  genial,  thoughtful,  ideal  life  of  literature 
which  was  forming  under  the  influences  of  the 
Waverley  books,  leading  men  to  look  at  the  old 
time  through  the  exquisite  veil  which  intellect  was 
weaving  over  it.  Mr.  Irving  took  the  dwellings 
of  the  past,  and  declining  to  people  them,  as  did 
Mrs.  Radcliffe,  with  spectres,  who  made  the  days 
hideous  and  the  nights  uncomfortable,  and  led  the 
visitor  only  up  dark  staircases,  through  trap-doors, 


WHO    GOES    THERE*  209 

into  dungeons ;  and  declining,  also,  to  make  the 
chief  interest  gather  in  some  mailed  knight  who 
revelled  and  raided,  he  gave  to-  the  old  manor- 
house  the  glad  life  of  the  true-hearted  old  gentle- 
man, the  well-mannered  lady ,, the  sport  and  kind- 
nesses of  old,  not  over-old,  tradition.  Perhaps  he 
took  up  the  thread  which,  in  Sir  Roger  de  Cov- 
erly,  the  essayist  of  the  Spectator  had  commenced 
to  weave.  Whatever  was  the  secret  of  his  suc- 
cess, he  was  successful,  and  he  deserved  it.  In  his 
case,  at  least,  the  goddess  Fortune  of  literature 
walked  with  unbandaged  eyes  and  saw  the  right 
man  and  put  him  in  the  right  place. 

In  1841,  a  map,  that  was  really  very  curious,  came 
into  my  possession.  It  delineated  the  old  posses- 
sions of  the  New  Netherlands.  It  had  vague  ideas, 
indeed,  of  lakes  and  districts ;  and  where  now  are 
the  rich  and  prosperous  lands  of  western  New 
York,  was  on  this  a  collection  of  hard,  Indian  des- 
ignations, and  quaint  pictures  of  the  savages' 
camps  and  wigwams.  But,  in  one  respect,  it  was 
rich  and  replete  with  information,  and  that  was 
in  the  department  of  the  Hudson  river,  where  all  the 
demands  of  the  historian  seemed  to  be  met,  in  the 
blending  of  the  aboriginal  and  the  colonists'  names 
of  shore  and  mountain  and  village.  I  sent  to  Mr. 
Irving  a  copy  of  this  map,  and  called  his  attention 
to  the  fact  that  over  all  the  country  on  the  border 
14 


210  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

of  the  river  opposite  his  home,  there  was  the 
record  of  the  ownership  of  the  Heer  Van  Neder- 
horst.  The  name  was  new  to  me,  as  connected 
with  manorial  grant,  but  the  map  seemed  to  give 
him  a  domain  so  wide,  that  I  considered  it  emi- 
nently worthy  of  research,  to  know  who  was  this 
great  "  laird-"  of  ten  thousand  Hudson  river  side 
acres. 

His  answer  to  my  letter  indicated  that  the  gift 
of  the  map  was  to  him  a  welcome  one.  He  says  : 
"  I  highly  prize  the  historical  document  with  which 
you  have  furnished  me.  When  leisure  presents,  I 
will  endeavor  to  study  out  this  map  with  the  lights 
afforded  by  old  books  and  records,  concerning  the 
early  history  of  the  Hudson  and  its  dependencies. 
My  time  and  attention  are,  however,  so  much  cut 
up  and  engrossed  by  a  thousand  domestic  cares  and 
concerns,  that  I  seem  daily  to  have  less  and  less 
leisure  and  quietude  for  literary  pursuits.  I  can 
only  say,  that  the  chords  you  have  touched  upon 
in  your  communications  with  me  are  such  as  are 
peculiarly  in  unison  with  my  tastes  and  humors. 

"  As  to  the  Heer  Nederhorst,  I  have  an  idea 
that  I  have  a  memorandum  concerning  him  among 
my  papers,  and  that  a  Oolonie  or  a  Patroonship 
was  granted  to  him  on  the  west  side  of  the  river, 
on  which  he  attempted  to  form  a  settlement,  and 
to  raise  tobacco,  but  without  success.  I  may  be 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  211 

mistaken,  but  will  look  into  the  matter.  I  have 
been  very  desirous  of  ferreting  out  the  original 
Indian  names.  Many  of  them  are  contained  in 
the  old  title-deeds,  and  may  be  found  in  the  clerk's 
offices  of  the  various  river  counties.  I  have  res- 
cued two  or  three  localities  in  my  own  neighbor- 
hood from  their  vile,  commonplace  names,  and 
restored  to  them  their  wild  Indian  names,  which 
happened  to  be  quite  euphonious." 

Some  years  afterward,  the  Senate  of  the  State 
of  New  York,  on  the  motion  of  the  Hon.  George 
R.  Babcock,  of  Buffalo,  directed  its  clerk  to  pro- 
cure the  "  restoration "  of  an  old  portrait,  de- 
clared to  be  of  Columbus,  which  in  a  long,  long 
time  past,  had  been  presented  to  the  Senate  by 
Maria  Farmer,  a  descendant  of  Jacob  Leisler. 
It  seemed  to  the  clerk,  as  lie  examined  the  history 
of  the  gift,  that  its  descent  from  Leisler  was  a  very 
curious  and  interesting  feature.  That  unfortunate, 
but  distinguished  man  had  been  the  martyr  to  his 
adherence  to  the  Revolution  of  1688,  —  to  his 
faith  in  the  more  liberal  principles  for  which  Wil- 
liam of  Orange  had  come  to  the  sovereignty  of 
England.  He  had  travelled  in  Europe,  and  it 
seemed  most  probable  that  he  had  brought  this 
portrait  home  with  him,  as  purporting  to  be  of  a 
name  everywhere  the  property  of  America.  The 
piclure  was  admirably  restored  by  Williams,  Ste- 


212  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

vens,  and  Williams,  and  it  is  at  this  hour  an  orna- 
ment of  the  senate  chamber. 

The  clerk  of  the  Senate  wrote  a  report  of  his 
fulfilment  of  his  duty,  which,  on  the  motion  of  the 
Hon.  John  A.  Cross,  of  Brooklyn,  was  entered 
on  the  journals  of  the  Senate,  and  a  copy  of  this 
volume  of  the  journals  was  directed  to  be  sent  to 
Mr.  Irving,  which  was  done,  and  this  grateful 
acknowledgment  made :  — 

"  SUNNYSIDE,  February  23,  1851. 

"  DEAR  SIR, —  I  have  the  honor  to  acknowledge  the  re- 
ceipt of  your  letter  of  the  27th  January,  accompanying 
copies  of  a  resolution  of  the  Senate,  and  of  its  Journal  for 
the  session  of  1850.  On  referring  to  the  appendix  to  that 
journal,  I  am  made  sensible  of  the  signal  compliment  in- 
tended me  by  the  Senate  in  directing  the  transmission  of 
this  document. 

"  To  be  deemed  by  that  honorable  and  enlightened  body, 
worthy  to  have  my  name  in  any  degree  associated  with  that 
of  the  illustrious  discoverer,  whose  achievements  I  have  at- 
tempted to  relate,  is,  indeed,  a  reward  beyond  the  ordinary 
lot  of  authors. 

"  I  am  unacquainted  with  the  forms  of  the  Senate,  but  I 
beg  you  will  communicate  in  a  suitable  way  to  that  honora- 
ble body,  my  deep  and  grateful  sense  of  this  very  flattering 
mark  of  their  consideration." 

I  doubt  if  Mr.  Irving  ever  realized  thoroughly 
the  full  measure  of  popularity  which  he  really  pos- 
sessed with  the  people,  making  his  name  one  of  the 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  213 

few  in  the  value  of  which  all  men  united,  and  of 
which  the  nation  was  earnestly  proud. 
•  In  1857,  I  visited  him  at  Sunnyside,  making  a 
delightful  preface  to  such  a  visit,  by  an  hour  at 
the  house  of  his  neighbor  ^nd  intimate  friend  and 
kinsman,  the  Hon.  M.  H.  Grinnell.  In  all  re- 
spects, —  in  the  society  that  accompanied  me,  —  in 
,  the  day,  —  in  the  preliminary  ride  through  Wol- 
fert's  Dell,  with  its  beautiful  landscape,  such  a  pic- 
ture of  beauty  hanging  over  the  Hudson,  —  in  all 
these,  it  was  a  visit  that  was  to  me  a  memorable 
one.  Sunnyside,  as  long  as  stone  and  lime  shall 
bind  together,  will  be  attractive  in  association.  It 
deserves  attraction  from  its  own  tasteful  and  cosey 
appointments,  —  being,  in  plan  and  form  and  in 
situation,  much  nearer  the  solid  of  an  ideal,  than 
it  is  often  given  to  genius  to  achieve. 

Soon  after  we  arrived  at  the  house,  Mr.  Irving 
came  in,  and  his  way  and  manner  impressed  me  as 
being  very  active  and  lively,  not  at  all  over-man- 
nered, but  with  a  joyous  friendliness,  that  was  very 
agreeable  to  the  visitor.  His  conversation  was 

o 

delightful,  anecdotical,  continuous,  and  full  of 
enjoyment.  He  eulogized  Moore  and  rejoiced  in 
Scott,  —  especially  exulting  in  the  memory  of  the 
days  he  passed  at  Abbottsford,  and  his  manner  of 
uttering  this  was  very  impressive.  "  I  said  to 
myself,"  said  he,  "  in  the  evening  of  each  of  those 


214  WHO    GOES    THERE ? 

days,  this  has  been  a  perfectly  happy  day.  Now 
mind  —  I  said  it  then  —  I  do  not  say  it  now."  I 
understood  this  to  mean  that  he  conveyed  to  me 
his  conviction  that  it  was  not  through  the  pleasant 
maze  of  colored  memories  that  he  expressed  his 
enjoyment,  but  that  he  had  said  this  eulogy  of  the 
days,  while  they  were  with  him,  and  while  all  de- 
tail, all  incident,  was  vivid  in  his  recollection. 

An  allusion  was  made  to  the  delight  with  which 
a  young  lady  who  was  with  me  had  read  his  Tales 
of  Alhambra.  Instantly  he  started  up  with  great 
animation,  and  walking  rapidly  across  the  room, 
said,  "  Oh,  I  can  show  her  a  portion  of  the 
frieze  of  one  of  its  walls," — which  he  did.  I 
remember  his  defending  Moore  against  the  charge, 
which  his  autobiographical  diary  would  seem  to 
prove,  that  he  isolated  himself  in  his  social  pleas- 
ures, without  his  wife's  participation,  even  when 
they  were  the  gayeties  of  the  neighborhood,  —  as  in 
the  instance  of  his  .many  delightful  visits  to  Lord 
Lansdowne's  mansion,  Bowood,  —  Mr.  Irving  said 
that  Mrs.  Moore  declined  to  accompany  him.  She 
saw  or  believed  she  saw  that  there  was  a  distinc- 
tion in  the  welcome  to,  or  in  the  position  of,  the 
great  author  and  his  wife,  and  hence,  in  what  we 
should  call  "  standing  on  her  dignity,"  she  re- 
mained at  home.  In  a  letter  subsequent  to  that 


WHO    GOES    THERE*  215 

visit,  Mr.  Irving  alluded  to  Moore's  writing  con- 
cerning this  country :  — 

"  Moore  was  a  very  young  man  when  he  visite'd  this  coun- 
try, and  lived  to  regret  the  wrong  impressions  he  received 
and  published  concerning  its  inhabitants.  I  wonder  Lord 
John  Russell,  who  was  his  literary  executor,  did  not  omit 
some  insulting  passages  contained  in  those  early  letters, 
which  I  am  convinced,  Moore  himself  would  have  oblit- 
erated, had  he  revised  them  for  the  press." 

These  hours  at  Sunnyside,  —  seeing  Mr.  Irving 
surrounded  by  the  kindred  to  whose  happiness  his 
life  seemed  one  constant  devotion — with  the  audit 
of  his  genial  talk  —  himself  in  full  life  and  good 
spirits —  his  themes  the  great  minds  with  whom  he 
had  held  more  intimate  association  than  had  any 
other  man  in  America,  —  these  were  hours  that  it 
would  be  treason  to  one's  own  highest  enjoyment 
'to  forget.  As  we  left,  he  accompanied  us  to  the 
outer  door,  and  passing  a  little  room,  said  in  his 
terse,  emphasized  way  :  "  There  —  there  is  the 
place  where  I  am  busy  at  my  work  (the  Life  of 
Washington)  —  busy  at  it  —  putting  the  dead 
coloring  on." 

It  was  the  "  dead  coloring  "  in  the  progress  of 
the  intellectual  picture  then,  but  history  has  framed 
it  in  her  gallery  of  portraits ;  that  will  abide  the 
look  of  the  ages. 


216  \fHO    GOES    THERE! 

I  saw  him  afterward  at  church,  at  Tarry  town, 
and  of  all  persons  I  think  he  was  the  most  attentive. 
It  must  have  been  in  him  the  high  good  manners 
of  principle,  for  I  do  recollect  that  the  sermon  was 
especially  cold  and  uninteresting.  He  seemed  to 
me  different  from  his  portraits, —  so  much  so,  that 
when  he  entered  the  room  at  Sunnyside,  it  was  a 
surprise  to  me.  I  have  since  stood  by  Palmer's 
side,  as  he,  from  photograph  and  sketch,  was 
moulding  the  bust  which  is  such  a  triumph  of  his 
art,  and  I  thought  in  that  I  could  see  Mr.  Irving 
as  he  looked  in  life.  There  was  a  turn  of  his 
features  toward  the  utterance  of,  or  relish  for,  a 
pleasantry,  a  quick  discernment  of  the  ludicrous, 
and  in  his  face  the  expression  of  a  man  with  a 
solidity  of  comfort  about  him.  Eliot,  the  great 
portrait  painter,  told  me  that  when  he  (Mr.  Eliot) 
went  up  to  Sunnyside  specially  to  make  semblance 
of  him,  Mr.  Irving  laughingly  declined.  "  No," 
said  he,  "  I  shall  not  perpetuate  such  a  libel  on 
myself  as  to  have  a  picture  of  an  old  man  made, 
and  then  to  hear  it  said,  '  Is  this  the  old  fellow  who 
has  written  all  those  tender  love  stories  ? '  Oh, 
tto,  that  wont  do ! " 


CHAPTER    VI. 

EDWARD    EVERETT. 

ONFINED,  almost  without  exception,  as 
these  records  are,  to  the  memories  of  those 
who  have  left  the  land  of  the  living,  and 
fully  defined  history  and  character,  I  hoped 
not  to  have  included  the  name  of  Edward 
Everett.  I  even  thought  that,  perhaps,  he 
might  give  this  book  the  honor  of  a  pe- 
rusal for  he  had  so  kindly  noticed,  in  a  specific 
chapter  of  his  Mount  Vernon  papers,  a  former 
work,  the  Life  of  Daniel  Boone,  written  by  me. 

But  the  inexorable  fate  of  all  overtook  him,  and 
he  died  in  the  strength  of  his  fame,  without  twi- 
light to  his  long  day  of  service  to  mankind  and  of 
honor  to  himself.  No  apologies  for  decadence 
dimmed  that  fame.  He  died  while  a  nation  was 
gazing  at  him,  and  the  universal  grief  of  the 
nation  was  the  wail  at  his  grave.  He  had  been 
the  utterer  of  the  oracles  of  holy  writ,  and  the  tra- 
ditions of  that  time  were  a  precious  memory,  a  leg- 
end of  gold  and  frankincense  and  myrrh,  brought  to 

(2.17) 


218  WHO    GOES    THERE 1 

the  holy  treasury  ;  he  had  taken  the  uppermost  place 
among  American  scholars,  and  gave  to  that  name 
a  solid  and  a  sure  worth,  which  made  it  recognized 
in  the  old  world  of  intense  student  and  tested 
learning;  he  had,  in  his  department  of  oratory, 
risen  where  he  was  not  even ,  rivalled  ;  of  states- 
manship, of  diplomacy,  he  had  had  and  held  the 
best  and  worthiest ;  he  was  illustrious  to  his  very 
townsmen  ;  and  thus  he  died  in  his  seat  on  the  dais 
of  his  race,  and  the  head  of  the  nation  led  the  nation 
to  mourn  over  him.  His  ambition  could  have  com- 
passed in  its  imaginings  no  worthier  name  or  fame. 

He  had  seen  all  the  wisest  and  the  worthiest. 
The  welcomed  guest  of  Scott,  acquaintance  of 
Byron,  and  these  typing  all  the  long  list  of  excel- 
lences and  dignities, —  having  seen  all  these  closely 
and  intimately,  knowing  the  best  of  the  past  and 
great  in  the  present,  what  was  there  more  that  was 
44  of  the  earth,  earthy  "  for  his  illustration  or  ex- 
perience ? 

I  first  saw  Edward  Everett,  if  I  may  say  I  saw 
him,  in  the  twilight,  and  its  shades  deeper  than  its 
light,  of  a  September  evening,  on  the  Common,  at 
Boston,  in  1851,  beneath  a  great  tent,  or  pavilion, 
which  had  been  spread  over  a  large  space  there,  in 
which  to  give  a  banquet  to  the  guests  at  Boston's 
most  hospitable  Railway  Jubilee.  That  city  be- 
lieved itself  bound  to  the  Canadas,  and  indeed  to 


WHO    GOES    T'HEJRJE?  219 

*11  mankind,  by  the  chain  of  iron  it  had  forged  by 
/ts  enterprise ;  and  this  was  the  coming  together 
of  the  wisest  and  the  worthiest  to  felicitate  state 
and  nation,  and  especially  each  other,  that  so 
much  was  well  and  worthily  done.  Mr.  Everett 
was  about  fifty-six  years  of  age,  certainly  in  his 
prime,  although  his  whole  life  was  in  great  degree 
worthy  of  being  styled  thus.  It  had  been  a  day 
of  great  festivity.  The  pageant  had  almost  ex- 
hausted Boston's  decorative  skill.  The  procession 
had  innumerable  devices,  and  very  curious  and 
very  beautiful  they  were.  The  schools  were  there, 
and  there-was  the  charm.  There  were  artificers 
in  all-t^e  precious  stones  in  the  display,  but  there 
were  the  workers  in  mind,  "  more  precious  than 
rubies."  -  The  true  treasures  of  the  city  were 
there,  and  they  told  where  its  strength  lay ;  and  if 
Canadians  conned  that  lesson  well,  their  visit  had 
something  better  than  the  memories  of  a  gala  day. 
The  boys  were  orderly, —  that  was  eulogy  enough. 
In  the  thronging  crowd,  room  was  made  for  the 
girls  to  walk  through  safely.  Men  unused  to  par- 
lor life  did  this  kindly ;  and  this  true  chivalry, 
exercised  toward  the  gentle  and  defenceless,  won 
my  admiration  more  than  would  a  myriad  of  the 
•studied  and  often  interested  courtesies  of  men 
toward  each  other, —  the  practising  with  a  masque, 
as  so  much  of  it  is.  There  was  a  miniature 


WHO    GOES    THERE? 


in  the  line ;  it  smoked  sneezingly.  I  doubt  if  the 
mountain  is  as  odoriferous.  There  was  a  fire- 
worker, who  had  a  wizard  before,  and  a  great  vam- 
pyre  bat  in  the  rear  of  his  vehicle,  puzzling  every- 
body, and  acting  with  a  dramatic  excellence  that 
would  have  won  a  smile  from  Garrick. 

I  remember  with  what  genius  for  contrast  the 
pianoforte-makers  made  their  display.  An  old  box 
of  1793,  looking  up  from  its  cracked  jingle  to  a 
gorgeous  grand,  all-radiant,  in  rosewood,  and  with 
a  tone  that  would  touch  the  music  nerve  even  of 
that  musicless  man  that  Shakspeare  anathematizes. 

Through  all  this  labyrinth  of  dainty  and  rare 
devices,  the  three  thousand  guests  of  •Boston 
wended  their  way  to  the  pavilion ;  and  although 
the  vast  army  of  spectators  were  subjected  to  the 
most  severe  ordeal  of  submission  that  can  occur  to 
man,  —  seeing  others  going  to  dinner  when  they 
are  not, —  yet  there  was  the  grandeur  of  a  quiet 
adherence  to.  all  the  arrangements  of  the  day.  It 
was  a  proud  day  for  the  good  order  of  Boston. 
Generally,  the  people  that  go  to  these  great  public 
feasts,  like  those  who  are  found  at  the  elegant  sup- 
pers of  fashion,  are  of  a  class  of  people  who  live  at 
home  very  well,  certainly  with  quite  enough  and  in 
abundance  of  the  aliment  of  life.  Why  is  it,  then, 
that  such  people  generally  eat  with  such  vigor  and 
with  such  persevering  relish  ?  Evidently  the 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  221 

causes  lie  deep  within.  We  drank  the  coffee,  and 
Jid  not  murmur  for  champagne  ;  and  in  the  aroma 
of  the  Arabian  berry  there  was  abundant  merri- 
ment. .;...» 

The  President  of  the  United  States  (Mr.  Fill- 
more)  was  a  guest,  and  at  his  side  was  the  Gov- 
ernor of  the  Canadas  (Elgin  and  Kincardine)  ; 
and  when,  in  the  opening  speech,  these  representa- 
tive men  grasped  each  other's  hands,  it  was  dra- 
matic. We  all  felt  the  beauty  of  the  incident,  and 
the  great  crowd  in  the  pavilion  was  stirred  with 
feeling,  as  witnessing  something  more  than  a  per- 
sonal courtesy.  L'ftrd  Elgin  made  a  very  good 
speech,  —  effective,  bright,  right  on,  with  Ameri- 
can facility  of  utterance.  I  had  seen  him  before, 
acting  as  the  representative  of  the  Crown,  in  the 
Parliament,  at  Toronto,  upon  the  Council  throne, 
the  Council  before  him,  the  Commons  at  the  bar; 
Lord  Frederick  Bruce,  since  prominent  in  China, 
at  his  side,  and  himself  buttoned  cruelly  close  in 
blue  and  silver.  We  all  thought  him  a  man  of 
eloquent  expression,  educated  language,  and  clear 
good  sense  ;  and  when  Victoria's  health  was  given, 
the  pavilion  thousands  sent  forth  a  cheer  that 
calmed  the  old  echoes  that  might  have  haunted 
these  revolutionary  streets.  Then  might  a  smile 
have  come  to  the  lip  of  the  dead  of  the  Old  Prov- 
ince House.  It  was  one  of  the  hours  of  that 


222  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

which  Mr.  Monroe  called,  "  the  era  of  good  feel- 
ing." 

Long  before  the  audience  wanted  to  leave,  the 
darkness  of  the  evening  closed  around  us,  and  the 
eloquent  voices  came  to  us  out  of  the  obscure ;  and 
strange  and  quaint  it  was  to  catch  the  different 
lights  and  shadows  of  this  great  crowd,  all  listen- 
ing in  attention,  while  but  few  could  with  any  dis- 
tinctness see  the  speakers. 

I  there  first  heard  the  voice  of  Edward  Everett, 
and  the  chord  of  the  master-hand  was  revealed. 
That  sweet  and  strong  enunciation,  those  sculp- 
tured sentences,  that  wealth  of  imagery,  the 
pleasant  and  fitting  illustrations,  —  all  these  went 
to  the  heart  of  the  audience  and  made  his  address 
the  favorite  of  the  occasion. 

This  magnificent  banquet  —  so  in  its  intellec- 
tual food,  though  simple  in  that  which  ministered 
to  the  mortal  part — closed.  All  that  remained 
for  the  jubilee  was  to  light  up  park  and  hall  and 
mansion,  with  brilliant  illumination,  and  this  was 
charmingly  done.  I  stood  by  the  crescent  sheet 
that  the  Cochituate  spreads  on  the  common.  In 
the  beautiful  light  of  the  day,  the  fountain,  spring- 
ing from  its  long  journey  of  aqueduct  and  tube, 
seemed  glistening  in  joy  at  its  release.  It  formed 
its  arch  of  crystal,  breaking,  dissolving,  —  now 
a  silver^  sheet  and  now  a  feathery  plume.  This 


WHO    GOES    THERE ?,  223 

night,  the  rocket  and  the  Bengola  light  flung  their 
vivid  green  and  red  and  white  brilliancy  toward 
the  sky,  and  this  pure  spring-water  formed  a  mir- 
ror for  all  the  beauty  of  the  gay  fires  above,  and 
the  ripples  turned  to  emerald  or  azure  or  crimson 
as  each  arched  over  it.  Except  as  these  bars  of 
light  existed  for  the  moment,  the  Common  was 
densely  dark  and  gloomy  in  its  foliage.  From  the 
ancient  cemetery  of  Copp's  Hill,  from  all  the 
avenues,  the  fires  went  up,  and  giant  torches 
seemed  quivering  over  Boston. 

I  remember  that  old  John  Hancock's  house,  from 
the  ancient  attic  to  the  parlors,  —  not.  less  curious 
and  old-fashioned,  —  was  in  full  illumination. 
Amidst  this  labyrinth  of  light  and  shadow  this 
jubilee  ended;  and  it  was  a  pleasant  thought  to 
associate  one's  first  knowledge  of  such  a  name  as 
that  of  Everett  with  so  much  of  beauty. 

In  1853,  the  people  of  Plymouth  called  to  that 
ancient  town  —  that  town  so  buried  up  under  a 
cairn  of  eulogies,  of  odes,  of  speeches,  of  all 
that  something  of  history  and  much  of  imagination 
can  effect,  —  all  who  desired  to  breathe  the  air 
of  the  ocean  in  the  fervid  month  of  August ;  all 
who  desired  to  know  the  capabilities  of  Plymouth 
for  a  gala  day  ;  and  all  who  wished  to  hear  Edward 
Everett  utter  his  noble  words  of  philosophical 
beauty  in  and  around  the  Rock.  Of  the  22d  of 


224  WHO    GOES    THERE f 

December,  as  memorialized  at  this  town,  we  had 
often  heard ;  but  the  wild  coast  winds  and  driving 
snows  were  no  incentive  to  hospitality,  and  so 
our  ingenious  friends  contrived  this  celebration  of 
the  Embarkation  of  the  Pilgrims,  or,  as  one  of  the 
legends  in  the  street,  wittily  called  it  —  Forefather's 
Day  thawed  out.  Of  coursb,  thither  we  moved, 
having  Mrs.  Hemans'  stanzas  as  our  text  of 
thought,  and  looking  closely  out  for  that  "  stern 
and  rock-bound  shore."  I  recollect  that  being 
compelled,  by  some  miscalculation  of  railway  hour, 
to  take  the  long  drive  from  Centre  Abington,  we 
doubted  in  the  midnight  if  there  was  such  place 
as  Plymouth,  —  whether  it  was  not  all  a  myth,  and 
Elder  Brewster  and  the  Rock  and  the  Mayflower 
were  not  shadowy  as  Homer's  heroes  and  battle- 
fields. But  the  horses  were  good  and  the  driver  was 
sober.  We  read  guide-boards  by  cigar-light,  and  the 
Samoset  at  last  by  its  watch  said  to  us,  Welcome, 
Englishmen ;  or,  if  not  thus  literally  following  the 
Indian's  unexpected^  voice,  gave  us  that  which 
Shenstone  declares  a  real  pleasure  —  the  welcome 
of  an  inn.  It  puzzled  us  how  the  wearied  May- 
flower found  its  way  thither.  The  town  was  in 
situation  and  circumstance  ver)  different  from  the 
thought  yesterday  cherished  in  respect  to  it.  The 
current  idea  of  it  is  of  a  small  and  very  old  settle- 
ment, with  a  bold,  bluff  point  projecting  out  into 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  225 

the  sea ;  and  the  Rock,  the  most  auspicious  feat- 
ure of  the  scene.  Such  is  the  Plymouth  of  the 
mind  ;  but  the  reality  is  different.  .  Behind  two  or 
three  enfoldings  of  cape  and  beach  and  sea-wall,  it 
is  about  the  last  place  into  which  a  vessel  would  be 
sure  to  come  as  a  matter  of  course.  It  must  have 
perplexed  the  solemn  sailors  to  have  found  their 
way  inward.  It  is  a  shelter  from  the  sea.  One 
hears  the  moaning  of  the  ocean,  but  it  is  heard  as 
we  hear  the  rain  on  the  roof. 

But  where  is  the  Rock  ?  Right  out  in  the  open 
sea,  we  thought,  —  its  bold,  age-worn  surface  swept 
by  every  storm.  So  we  rushed  to  find  it,  —  if,  in- 
deed, we  were  not  rather  disappointed  that  it  was 
not  seen  far  above  all  edifices,  the  great  landmark 
of  the  coast.  Not  first  to  have  gone  to  it,  would 
have  been  to  neglect  St.  Peter's  on  a  visit  to  Rome. 
We  found  Mrs.  Hemans  and  the  romance  of  his- 
tory poor  guides ;  so  threading  our  way  through 
narrow  streets,  with  "  ancient  and  fish-like  "  pecu- 
liarities, with  stores  bearing  the  old  sign  of  West 
India  goods,  around  corners  and  through  lanes, 
we  traced  it  out  at  last,  —  some  benevolent  indi- 
vidual having  written  its  locality,  for  the  use  and 
behoof  of  strangers,  not  in  letters  of  granite  or 
iron,  but  in  a  chalk  formation ;  and  at  last  we  stood 
upon  the  Rock,  —  that  is,  on  so  much  of  it  as  the 
debris  and  neglect  and  shocking  bad  taste  and 

15 


226  WHO     GOES    THERE ? 

historical  neglect  of  this  people  had  left  above- 
ground.  Was  this  our  Mecca  ?  I  could  absolve 
myself  and  reflect  that  westward  lineage  of  my  own 
had  smoked  peaceable  pipes  on  Castle  Island  many 
years  before  this  world-moving  expedition  reached 
Plymouth.  We  returned  to  the  Samoset,  wiser 
and  sadder.  We  afterward  found  high  and  dry 
in  the  main  street,  encompassed  with  a  railing,  a 
great  piece  of  the  Rock,  reft  from  its  historical 
place ;  and  we  recollected  that  a  fragment  of  it 
does  duty  as  a  curiosity  in  a  Brooklyn  steeple. 
But  we  sorrowed  in  all  good  earnest  over  the 
fatality  that  seems  to  attach  in  our  country  to  all 
historical  monuments. 

Pleasanter  associations  soon  effaced  this.  Old 
Plymouth  seemed  set  in  a  crown  of  flowers,  and 
wherever  we  looked  some  of  those  fair  girls, —  who 
keep  up  the  lineage  of  handsome  Penelope  Pel- 
ham,  whose  portrait,  in  Pilgrim  Hall,  fascinated 
us,  —  everywhere  these  had  adorned  arch  and 
roof  and  corridor  and  balcony  with  floral  loveli- 
ness, and  we  were  at  once  fascinated  followers  in 
the  train  of  the  daughters 'of  the  May  and  August 
flower. 

The  morning  brought  with  it  a  fog,  the  after- 
noon a  sweet  sunshine,  and  thus  the  Pilgrim's 
experiences  were  symboled.  The  heavens  often 
write  such  lessons  in  their  shining  and  their 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  227 

shadows.  I  saw  in  the  gathering  to  the  Tent,  a 
procession  of  ladies,  and  they  moved  on  in  a  most 
orderly  way,  perhaps  because  of  the  grand  review 
of  look  and  observation  which  was  before  them. 
The  scene  in  the  Pavilion  was  a  beautiful  one ;  for 
it  was  a  gathering  of  such  order,  such  respecta- 
bility, and  in  that  crowd  of  fair  women,  so  much 
of  beauty ;  and  it  is  pleasant  to  chronicle,  that  was 
the  day  when  the  fashion  of  the  bonnet  was  of 
the  very  prettiest.  Up  on  the  dais  came  Gov. 
Clifford,  and  the  elder  Quincy,  and  Hale,  Sum- 
ner,  and,  as  the  master  mind  of  all  —  Everett.  It 
was  a  circle  of  illustrious  names,  and  they  had 
before  them  an  appreciative  audience. 

At  that  time,  one  of  the  leading  themes  that 
was  woven  into  all  public  address  and  private  con- 
versation, was  the  subject  of  the  extension  of  our 
territorial  area,  —  a  little  restlessness  toward  Cuba 
and  Central  America.  The  tiger  had  tasted  Texas. 
It  was  also  a  day  when  the  absurdity  of  the  spir- 
itual rappings  was  in  its  height  or  its  depth.  Mr. 
Everett  was  superb.  His  audience  hushed  at  the 
sound  of  his  magnificent  sentences. 

Has  Plymouth  ever  really  raised  the  monument, 
of  which  this  was  to  be  the  hour  of  origin  ?  If  it  has 
not,  then  is  there  a  great  duty  left  undone,  and  we 
shall  be  free  to  believe  her  ardent  sons  rather  insin- 
cere in  their  adulation.  A  few  old  houses  to  come 


228  WHO    GOES    THERE* 

down,  an  area  of  old  wharf  to  be  demolished,  and 
it  seemed  as  if  the  Rock  might  again  be  bound  to 
the  sea, —  fit  base  for  some  lofty  pile  of  commemo- 
ration. I  think  if  New  York  could  identify  the 
exact  spot  where  Hendrick  Hudson  first  landed  on 
the  Island  of  Manhattan,  our  Historical  Society 
would  never  rest  till  granite  made  its  memory  per- 
manent. -  * 

I  remember  that  there  was  a  model  there  of  the 
Mayflower, — a  tall,  high-decked,  clumsy  affair. 
It  is  not  wonderful  that  the  dear  old  ship  made  a 
four  months'  voyage.  Scant  form  of  the  clipper 
is  there  about  her,  and  in  a  race  to  California,  the 
Flying  Cloud  could  give  her  start  as  far  as  Cape 
Horn,  and  then  reach  the  Golden  Gate  and  begin 
to  discharge  cargo  before  she  arrived.  Scott,  in 
his  Peveril  of  the  Peak,  says  that  England  cast 
forth  the  Pilgrims  as  a  drunkard  loses  from  his  lap 
precious  jewels. 

It  was  a  day  of  good  memories.  I  would  have 
thought  it  a  little  more  in  the  gratitude  of  true 
history,  had  I  seen,. amidst  the  profusion  of  bunt- 
ing that  floated  everywhere,  the  flag  of  Holland, 
which  had  for  so  many  months  sheltered  the  Pil- 
grims, and  whose  large  and  lofty  hospitality  made 
that  land  of  the  sea  the  refuge  for  the  free  thought 
of  all  countries. 

At  night,  Plymouth  was  bright  with  festal  fires, ' 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  229 

and  glad  in  the  harmonies  of  skilled  music.  Rock- 
ets, bursting  into  stars  of  polychrome,  made  radiant 
messengers  so  far  in  the  upper  air,  that  it  may  be 
distant  vessels,  on  their  ocean  way,  made  note  in 
their  nautical  record  of  strange  meteors  playing  in 
the  heavens  in  the  latitude  of  the  Rock,  and  weird 
legends  might  have  been  thus  woven  of  celestial 
colors,  making  memorial  of  the  Pilgrims'  varied 
fortunes.  • 

At  a  very  agreeable  "  reception,"  given  in  the 
evening  of  that  memorable  day,  I  think  at  the 
house  of  Mr.  Warren,  in  the 'course  of  the  conver- 
sation, I  mentioned  to  Mr.  Everett,  that  when  a 
student  in  the  law-office  of  the  distinguished  Har- 
manus  Bleecker,  of  Albany,  whom  I  knew  to  be  a 
great  favorite  with  the  Boston  people,  with  Mr. 
Appleton  and  the  Quincys,  and  with  Mr.  Everett 
himself,  Mr.  Bleecker,  as  a  choice  morsel  amidst 
the  dry  hard  tack  of  the  law,  had  allowed  me  to 
read,  in  manuscript,  a  sermon  of  Mr.  Everett's 
delivery,  when  clergyman  of  a  church  in  Boston; 
and  that  I  could  well  recollect  my  delight  in  it. 
It  was  upon  the  text,  "  Who  will  show  us  any 
good?" 

In  the  description  of  this  festival,  reference 
was  made  to  sentences  in  his  address  which 
seemed  to  me  to  take  a  surprisingly  mild  view 
of  the  then  advancing  idea  of  the  filibuster, 


230  WHO    GOES    THERE f 

as  the  disturbers  of  the  peace  of  nations  were 
called.  —  Under  date  of  August  12,  1853,  he 
very  kindly  alludes  to  this  narrative  of  the  Plym- 
outh celebration,  and  says:  "I  think  if  you  will 
carefully  read  my  remarks,  you  will  not  find  them 
open  to  the  exception  intimated  by  yourself.  I 
spoke  only  of  the  transfer  of  the  culture  of  the  Old 
World  (with  the  requisite  improvements)  to  the 
New.  To  meet  exceptions  which  had  been  taken, 
in  several  cases  invidiously,  to  the  same  sentiment 
expressed  by  me  on  former  occasions,  I  took  care, 
by  three  or  four  qualifying  clauses,  to  exclude  the 
inference  that  this  was  necessarily  to  be  done  under 
any  one  political  organization.  You  will  ask, 
perhaps,  why  use  at  all  a  language  so  likely  to 
be  misunderstood  and  confounded  with  the  doc- 
trine of  the  filibusters?  To  this  question  there 
are  two  answers.  First,  it  is  impossible  to  say 
anything  warmly  and  earnestly  which  will  not  be 
both  misapprehended  and  misrepresented.  Sec- 
ond, I  use  such  language  for  much  the  same 
reason  that  led  Wesley  to  set  his  hymns  to  good 
music.  I  wish  to  show  the  country  that  a  sound 
and  true  conservatism  does  not  require  one  to  be 
eternally  croaking,  and  is  not  insensible  to  the 
hopes  and  glories  of  that  future  to  which  the  anal- 
ogy of  the  past  authorizes  us  to  look  forward. " 
He  then  requests  me  to  aid  him  in  procuring  for 


WHO    GOES    THERE*  231 

him  the  sermon  to  which  I  have  alluded.  "  I  have 
been  for  years  endeavoring  to  obtain  the  return  of 
my  manuscripts  of  every  kind,  that  I  may,  while  I 
live,  make  such  selection  and  disposition  of  them 
as  may  save  trouble  to  those  who  come  after  me." 

It  was  my  great  good  fortune  to  be  present  at 
the  festival  of  the  United  States  Scientific  Associa- 
tion, held  at  Albany,  in  August,  1856.  I  doubt 
whether  any  fete  more  successful  was  ever  known 
in  our  country,  in  the  character  of  those  who 
gathered  and  in  the  high  tone  of  talent  which  dis- 
tinguished all  that  was  said  or  done,  and  of  all 
which  the  address,  on  the  uses  of  Astronomy,  by 
Mr.  Everett,  was  far  away  the  master-piece,  the 
intellectual  crown. 

I  remember  that  Albany  was  a  very  busy  place 
at  that  time  ;  for  besides  the  convention  of  savans, 
there  was  a  gathering  of  those  who  studied  in 
political  convention  the  laws  of  power.  There 
was  a  welcome  given  to  the  savans  at  the  capitol. 
The  great  rooms  of  that  edifice  were  appropriate, 
in  their  diversity  and  magnitude,  for  all  the  pur- 
poses of  hospitality.  The  Assembly  and  Senate 
halls  received  learned  gentlemen  and  lovely  ladies  ; 
and  those  who  had  seen  the  capitol  in  so  many 
other  uses,  confessed  its  rare  fitness  to  enable  us  to 
realize  what  must  be  the  capacities  of  the  castle 
structures  of  Europe  fo  the  services  of  opulent  en- 


232  WHO     GOES    THERE f 

tertainment.  The  fullest  flounce  of  fashion  had 
room  and  verge  enough.  Once  before  that  capi- 
tol  opened  its  doors  to  festive  uses.  It  was  when 
Lafayette,  as  the  Guest  of  the  Nation,  was  received 
there,  and  when  a  ballroom  was  found — a  superb 
one  indeed  —  in  the  Assembly  chamber. 

The  successive  sessions,  during  the  week,  of  the 
different  sections  of  the  meeting  left  the  visitor  in 
embarrassment,  in  the  copious  treasure  of  mental 
power  everywhere  oifered  to  him.  It  was  the 
American  scholar  urged  to  indicate  his  best  by  the 
presence  of  his  peers,  and  there  were  offerings  on 
the  altar  of  science  where  abiding  good  might 
safely  be  predicted.  It  was  the  evidence  of  the 
great  advance  of  our  people  out  of  the  struggling 
life  of  frontier  pioneer  poverty  to  the  riches  of  in- 
tellectual excellence ;  and  as  if  to  bind  all  this  to 
the  past,  I  saw  there  one  who  stood  by  the  side 
of  Governor  Clinton  as  the  first  earth  was  moved 
for  the  construction  of  the  canal, —  one  who  was 
fellow-passenger  with  Robert  Fulton  in  the  first 
voyage  by  steam. 

It  was  very  interesting  to  observe  the  scholars 
of  America, —  the  scholars  in  science, —  for  our  pos- 
session of  a  great  array  of  such  is  often  doubted  and 
probably  wisely  doubted,  by  ourselves.  We  do  not 
do  for  mental  treasure  what  we  do  for  the  oil, —  dig 
long  and  deep  and  unceasingly,  through  all  obsta- 


WHO    GOES    THERE?         .  233 

cle,  over  all  difficulty.  In  no  country,  as  much 
as  in  ours,  does  patience  not  perform  its  entire 
work.  We  crowd  life  with  the  desperate  effort  to 
know  something  of  all  things.  Perhaps  this  is 
wise,  the  greatest  wisdom.  It  is  a  question  not 
settled  yet.  Some  of  these  savans  were  thor- 
ough, and  had  their  one  department  of  science  : 
thus,  Henry  R.  Schoolcraft  was  patient  in  his  in- 
vestigation into  the  ethnology  of  the  Indian.  Per- 
haps I  was  impressed  with  the  seeming  glamour  of 
his  ideas  about  their  language,  their  words  those 
of  necessity.  They  lived  an  existence  of  alarm 
amidst  the  gloom  of  the  wood,  and  did  not  disturb 
the  Faun  and  Satyr  by  over-much  intrusion  of 
sound  into  the  forest  shadow.  Not  till  civilization 
came  did  they  make  record  of  their  tongue.  The 
language  of  labor  was  English ;  the  language  of 
their  diplomacy,  their  inter-governmental  commu- 
nication as  of  themselves,  the  Algonquin. 

An  intelligent  captain  of  a  merchant  vessel  gave 
graphic  illustration  of  the  benefit  he  had  derived 
from  his  belief  in  Mr.  Redfield's  law  of  storms. 
The  circle  is  the  path  of  the  storm ;  and  the  rules 
of  the  savan  enabled  the  sailor  to  exercise  a  watch- 
fulness which  seemed  like  reading  the  future. 
This  captain's  vessel  was  proceeding  from  Valpa- 
raiso to  New  York,  and  he  and  all  his  crew  desired 
to  make  it,  if  possible,  of  all  voyages,  the  speediest ; 


234  WHO    GOES    THERE ? 

and  thus  pressed  on  by  the  full-aired  canvas,  the 
ship  went  at  a  rate  of  progress  that  promised  a 
speedy  look  at  the  lights  of  home.  The  captain 
observed  facts  which  he  believed  were  exponents, 
according  to  Mr.  Redfield,  of  proximate  danger. 
His  authority  was  supreme ;  but  when  he  gave  the 
order  to  shorten  sail  and  delay,  all  on  board 
thought  it  a  foolish  sacrifice  to  the  illusion  of  a 
theory.  But  his  was  a  ship  where  obedience  fol- 
lowed command,  and  the  ship  paused,  paused  as  it 
eventuated  on  the  edge  of  the  circle  of  destruc- 
tion ;  for,  when  he  resumed  his  course,  and  at  last 
reached  Sandy  Hook,  the  pilots  had  but  one  color 
of  tidings  to  communicate,  and  that  was  of  the 
darkest,  for  a  more  wild  and  fearful  storm  had 
scarcely  ever  poured  out  its  might ;  and  but  for 
that  delay,  influenced  by  that  theory,  the  ship 
would  have  met  that  storm  in  all  its  power. 

I  heard  much  of  geological  discussion.  It  was 
the  very  place  to  hear  it  in  its  best  array  of  in- 
genious theory  and  puzzling  fact.  An  eminent 
geologist  (Mr.  James  Hall)  presided  over  the  great 
assemblage  of  savans.  These  wise  men  wandered 
into  regions  of  fore-time.  They  traced  out,  in  the 
str-ata,  the  slowly  accumulating  developments  of 
life ;  they  bewildered  us  by  their  profound  and 
elaborate  doctrines ;  and  we  who  could  not  contro- 
vert, and  were  too  polite  to  contradict,  heard,  and 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  235 

were  as  amazed  as  they  could  have  desired.  But, 
at  this  comfortable  distance,  I  must  say,  even  if 
the  saying  depresses  my  volume,  that  it  seems  to 
me  that  there  is  not  a  geological  appearance,  or  a 
zoological  indication,  however  buried  up  or  con- 
cealed or  blended  with  rock,  or  immersed  in  drift, 
on  hill-top  or  under  ocean  bed,  but  that  every  dif- 
ficulty fades  before  the  great  explanation  of  the 
Deluge.  An  earth  created  with  all  the  unities  of 

O 

formation,  has  poured  upon  it  the  terrific  forces  of 
an  all-pervading  overflow.  The  fountains  of  the 
great  deep  break  up.  Over  all  the  terrific  ocean 
rises  with  a  dread  so  awful,  that  only  then  in  the 
history  of  Time  is  such  power  permitted.  The 
promise  is  painted  in  the  heavens  that  never  again 
shall  such  be.  Then  the  Earth  rises  from  its  en- 
counter with  such  forces  a  different  structure ; 
torn,  crushed,  displaced,  there  is  everywhere 
change,  modification,  transformation.  While  the 
summit  of  Ararat  was  under  the  wave,  the  work 
of  ages  was  accomplished. 

The  section  appropriated  to  the  Astronomers 
was  very  abstruse,  but  the  ladies  were  special  visit- 
ants to  the  star-gazers.  It  was  a  contemptible 
servility  ;  but  it  was  a  curious  word  used  by  the 
old  poet  Rogers,  uttered  to  one  of  our  own  citizens, 
when  talking  with  him  about,  death,  —  "I  want  to 

go,  Mr. ,"  said  he,  "  when    I    die,  from  star 

to  star,  to  see  in  which  of  them  woman  is  found." 


236  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

These  men  of  the  ethereal  study  uttered  learn- 
ing at  which  the  common  mind  quails.  I  was 
drowned  in  the  depths  of  the  discourse  upon' the 
tidal  currents  of  Saturn's  Ring.  The  address  was 
doubtless  worthy,  for  it  received  the  high  honor  of 
Joseph  Henry's  attention.  If  but  the  man  who 
was  in  Albany  one  hundred  and  two  years  before 
this  date  (Franklin),  could  have  been  at  this  gath- 
ering, he  would  have  seen  the  development  of  the 
road  to  which  his  sparkling  kite-string  led.  The 
enlightenment  given  by  one  savan,  of  the  nebular 
hypothesis,  was  beyond  ordinary  comment.  When 
Science  undertakes  to  dance  redowas  and  schot- 
tisches  and  mazourkas,  those  of  us  who,  in  ordi- 
nary affairs,  might  take  partners,  are  content  to  be 
amazed. 

Charles  Lamb  wrote  upon  a  leaf  of  his  book  of 
calculation,  which  lay  on  his  desk  at  the  India 
House,  "  This  increases  in  interest  as  you  progress" 
It  was  so  of  the  days  of  this  Scientific  Congress, 
and  its  narrative  has  detained  me  from  the  special 
theme  of  this  chapter  —  Mr.  Everett.  I  saw  him 
presented  to  the  body,  whose  institution  of  the 
Observatory  had  called  the  Congress  of  Savans 
together,  and  he  next  appeared  on  the  stage  at  the 
closing  day  of  the  Association,  the  day  just  pre- 
vious to  the  Inauguration  of  the  Dudley  Observa- 
tory. This  closing  day  was  brilliant  with  Agassiz 


WHO    GOES    THERE ?  237 

and  Bache  and  Sir  William  Logan  and  Joseph 
Henry  and  President  Anderson,  all  of  whom,  as  I 
write,  are  living,  and  fulfilling  the  high  promise  of 
their  talent.  I  like  to  watch  a  crowd  while  a  man 
of  intellect  utters  forth  the  strength  of  his  thought. 
The  ladies  listen  with  such  unfeigned  attention, 
trusting  and  believing,  and  the  men  half  suspect- 
ing, half  yielding  to  the  fascination. 

The  venerable  and  very  bright  Dr.  Samuel  H. 
Cox  amused  us  all  by  a  clever  episode.  He  said 
he  had  been  talking,  when  in  Europe,  with  a  dis- 
tinguished titular  personage,  who  said  the  United 
States  were  but  the  selvage  of  society.  "  No 
wonder,"  said  the  Doctor  to  him,  "  that  you  forget 
us, — we  often  forget  you ;  we  are  a  continent, — 
you^are  but  an  island.  If  you  will  come  over  to 
us  in  the  form  of  an  island,  we  will  find  you  a  lake 
big  enough  to  swim  in!  " 

This  Congress  was  a  very  popular  one.  The 
community  have  a  mysterious  respect  for  men  who 
know  so  much.  It  is  an  enlarged  and  enlightened 
descent  from  the  feeling  of  the  darker  ages,  when 
the  learned  clerks  moved  gloomily  from  shrine  to 
shrine. 

The  Inauguration  Day  had  its  clouds,  and  one 
savan  who  had  promulgated  his  theory  of  storms, 
was  assailed  by  questioning  as  to  what  was  indi- 
cated by  them ;  and  he  answered  us  with  a  degree 


238  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

of  confidence  which  reminded  me  of  the  weather 
predictions  of  Norna  of  the  Fitful  Head. 

In  the  front  of  the  dais  sat  Everett,  Agassiz. 
Silliman,  and  none  would  dispute  their  right  to  be 
in  that  roll  of  honor.  After  delays  and  interlocu- 
tory proceedings,  all  clever  in  their  own  way  and 
time,  but  painfully  protracting  the  coming  of  the 
event  for  which  that  crowd  had  gathered,  —  the 
discourse  of  Edward  Everett,  —  he  rose.  I  knew 
his  address  was  all  thoroughly  prepared.  Indeed, 
it  was  already  in  type.  I  had  it  in  my  possession 
already ;  he  had  given  it  to  me  on  the  previous 
evening,  at  the  hospitable  reception  at  the  Manor 
House.  He  knew  that  I  would  not  betray  him  by 
premature  publication.  I  have  since  known  that  he 
passed  several  hours  of  the  day  on  which  he  pro- 
nounced the  discourse  in  intense  study,  so  intense 
that  it  left  its  severe  impress  on  his  physical  condi- 
tion. 

Of  the  grandeur  of  that  discourse  this  testimony 
need  not  be  given.  It  to-day  is  read  by  all  men  who 
seek  the  beauty  of  their  own  language.  Without 
looking  at  note  or  brief,  his  gigantic  memory  un- 
rolled his  long  address, —  not  a  word  misplaced, 
without  confusion  or  entanglement  or  error.  I 
was  perpetually  interrupted  in  my  interest  at  its 
glowing  charm  of  expression,  its  most  felicitous 
figure,  so  thoroughly  sustained  to  the  absorbing 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  '     239 

climax,  by  my  amazement  at  his  memory.  It  was 
precise.  In  describing  the  bridges  over  the  Arno, 
in  his  picture  of  Florence,  he  intended  to  say  that 
they  hovered  over,  rather  than  spanned,  the  river, 
and  he  half  used  the  word  span  first,  and  before 
the  word  was  all  pronounced,  recovered  himself; 
so  intensely  true  was  his  memory  to  him.  He 
moved  in  a  constant  but  gentle  walk  over  a  space 
of  ten  feet ;  his  gestures  natural,  unless  the  tremor 
of  his  hand  was  an  art ;  his  utterance  very  distinct, 
but  his  voice  that  day  not  doing  justice  to  its  sweet- 
ness, "being  veiled  in  the  difficulties  of  a  sad  cold. 

Over  and  again  this  Astronomical  Discourse 
may  be  read.  I  bear  record  that  it  was  heard  with 
intense  interest,  and  to  all  that  vast  audience  this 
was  a  grandeur  of  oratory.  When  it  closed,  I  left 
the  ground  with  a  gentleman  not  at  all  favorably 
disposed  toward  Mr.  Everett.  Keen,  cold,  acute 
in  his  criticism,  a  very  able  and  a  very  prominent 
man,  master  of  his  own  thought,  and  controlling 
the  public  mind  in  great  degree.  "  He  has  con- 
quered me,"  said  he  to  me.  I  knew  how  much 
was  meant  by  this  testimony.  -%  I  recollect  Mr.  Wil- 
liam Logan,  the  eminent  geologist  of  the  Canadas, 
said,  "  I  did  not  think  the  English  language  capa- 
ble of  this."  The  long  and  fully  kept  up  passage 
in  which  he  described  the  successive  glories  of  the 
starry  night's  pathway  to  the  sunrise,  thrilled  that 


240  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

crowd.  I  know  that  this  was  the  emotion  of  that 
hour,  and  it  seems  to  me  well  to  chronicle  .thus 
what  were  the  exact  lineaments  of  a  time  so  mem- 
orable as  that  of  the  delivery  of  one  of  the  great 
addresses  of  the  age,  by  the  orator  who,  in  his 
department,  was  unrivalled. 

There  were  many  clergymen,  and  distinguished 
ones,  in  attendance.  I  would  like  to  have  gath- 
ered there  all  the  synods,  conventions,  assemblies, 
conferences,  convocations,  and  consociations,  and 
for  this  one  purpose,  that  they  might  have  seen 
and  heard  how  much  men  gain  in  their  addresses 
to  the  human  heart  by  speaking  them,  not  read- 
ing,—  by  the  utterance  of  voice,  sustained  by 
manner  and  gesture  and  eye. 

When  Mr.  Everett  commenced  —  suffering  as 
he  did  from  a  cold  —  I  feared  for  his  success.  I 
had  heard  him  in  the  strength  of  health  and  fairest 

o 

tone  of  voice. ;  but  I  bear  his  fame  witness,  he  was 
all*  himself.  He  spoke  with  such  beauty,  that  I 
hesitate  now  to  say  whether  I  ever  admired  his 
witchery  of  speech  more  than  on  this  occasion.  Such 
sentences,  so  much  of  elaborate  preparation,  and  yet 
carried  from  memory  into  voice  so  successfully  ! 

I  watched  this  cold  man  —  for  so  many  called 
him  —  to  see  if  emotion  was  kindled  in  him  of  his 
cwn  thought.  I  saw  his  cheek  flush  and  his  eye 
kindle,  and  found  no  chill  of  the  wheel  of  life  there. 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  241 

The  darkness  of  the  evening  shadowed  the  tent 
before  this  memorable  Festival  of  Eloquence  was 
over.  It  was  a  proud  historic  day  for  Albany,  and 
some  monumental  record  of  that  gathering  should 
be  placed  where  it  was  held. 

There  is,  in  the  series  of  Mr.  Everett's  Mount 
Vernon  papers,  a  chapter  in  which  he  alludes  to 
his  experiences  of  the  sleeping-car,  then  just  intro- 
duced, and  one  of  the  great  onward  movements 
toward  comfort  in  travelling.  When  Young  ut- 
tered that  famous  expression,  "  We  take  no  note 
of  time  save  by  its  loss,"  he  did  not  know  the  gen- 
tlemen of  the  railway.  The  conductor  keeps  his 
finger  on  the  pulse  of  the  old  graybeard,  and 
values  every  throb.  I  have  often  thought  that  no 
cause  in  our  American  experience  has  done  so 
much  to  teach  Americans  the  value  of  every  min- 
ute of  time,  as  has  the  railway  system.  6.17 
means  something  very  practical  when  one  arrives 
at  a  station  at  6.20,  and  finds  in  these  fractions, 
hitherto  disregarded,  the  labor  of  his  morning  lost. 
Whoever  has,  for  his  sins,  been  compelled  to  travel 
at  night  before  the  sleeping-car  was  prepared, 
knows  that  the  time  is  occupied  in  varying  one's 
position  so  as  to  arrive  at  the  exact  weight  of  the 
head,  and  what  degree  of  the  tortuous  and  the 
twisted  the  vertebra  of  the  neck  will  bear.  Con- 
trast this  with  the  luxury  of  an  outstretched  limb, 

16 


242  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

a  space  and  circumstance  of  rest  if  not  of  sleep, — 
something  of  quiet ;  the  roar  of  the  wheel  beneath 
at  last  blending  into  a  dream, —  a  thought  confusing 
itself  into  the  sweet  chaos  of  welcome  sleep.  Not 
possessing  a  talent  for  sleep,  I  have  often  heard  the 
wheel  till  my  ear  seemed  at  the  engine's  heart,  lis- 
tening to  its  pulsation.  The  locomotive  carries  us 
on  its  giant  arms,  and  the  eye  that  closes  in  the 
shadowy  pictures  of  the  Mohawk,  awakes  amidst 
the  life  of  Rochester.  Mr.  Everett  complained  of 
being  interrupted  in  his  sleep  by  conversation 'be- 
tween two  railway  officials.  It  is  seldom  that 

"  The  censer  of  censure  is  swung, 
And  returns  with  the  incense  of  praise." 

I  assured  him  that  there  was  not  an  officer  of  the 
road,  from  president  to  brakesman,  who  would  not 
willingly  sit  up  all  night,  even  after  a  day  of  labor, 
to  listen  to  his  utterances  of  words  in  beauty. 
Indeed,  the  best  compliment,  because  fresh  and 
original,  of  all  I  ever  heard  given  to  Mr.  Everett, 
was  by  a  railway  man.  We  were  all  at  Bing- 
hampton,  listening  to  Mr.  Everett's  glorious  dis- 
course on  Washington.  The  admission  fee  was 
fifty  cents.  When  the  address  finished,  this  man 
turned  from  his  wrapt  attention  to  his  friend  who 
sat  next  him,  and  says  he,  "  This  ought  to  have 
been  a  dollar  !  " 

This  oratitm  impressed  me  not  only  as  a  great 


WHO    GOES   THEME?  243 

tribute  to  the  labors  of  the  Scientific  Association, 
but  more  than  that,  as  a  mastery.  Our  minds  all 
the  week  had  been  at  the  feet  of  the  philosophy, 
which,  great  as  it  is,  is  but  the  discovery  of  the 
greater  or  the  better  in  the  things  that  are  seen. 
Here  rose  this  man,  in  melody  of  voice  and  glory 
of  thought,  above  all  the  theories  of  strata  and 
classification,  which  were  yesterday  unknown,  to- 
day are  doubted,  and  to-morrow  will  be  overthrown. 
How  swept  his  voice  over  the  chords  of  the  human 
heart !  We  live  but  in  the  Present,  and  the^  great 
Orator  is  master  of  the  Present.  To  him  Science 
is  not  the  messenger ;  it  does  but  bring  the  marble 
out  of  which  he  carves  the  glorious  statue. 

It  was  something  to  be  a  witness  of  the  scenes 
of  that  day  when  Boston,  by  an  address  from 
Edward  Everett,  inaugurated  the  bronze  statue  of 
Daniel  Webster ;  for  how  could  more  suitable  ora- 
tor find  more  felicitous  theme  ?  A  civilized  human 
race  seeks  to  perpetuate  the  remembrance  of  the 
men  who  have  risen,  by  good  or  great  deed,  above 
their  fellow-beings.  It  is  the  symbolizing  of 
Memory,  and  by  the  consent  of  the  ages,  the 
statue  is  most  appropriate.  It  has  the  material 
over  which  the  fingers  of  the  years  pass  softly. 
Europe  has  its  halls  and  galleries  and  arches 
crowded  with  such  forms  of  resemblance.  AH 
that  the  heart  could  desire  in  the  beauty  and  truth 


244  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

of  resemblance  of  those  that  the  heart  holds  dear- 
est, the  sculptor  makes  in  perpetual  form.  Old 
Rome  did  not  forget  to  teach  the  earth  this  lesson, 
in  company  with  those-  by  which  the  dead  Lion 
yet  governs  the  mind  of  mankind. 

These  graven  memorials  Boston  is  accumulating, 
and  the  treasure  cannot  be  too  great.  Washing- 
ton, Franklin,  Warren,  Bowditch,  Story,  in  marble 
and  in  bronze,  are  there.  Even  the  sweet  stranger, 
Beethoven,  is  there,  and  the  group  would  have 
been  incomplete  without  the  statue  of  Webster  ! 

When  I  eulogize  statuary  as  the  most  fitting 
memorial  of  men,  I  must,  in  my  sense  of  truth, 
say,  that  the  bronze  statue  is,  of  all  others,  least 
agreeable.  Its  color  is  not  a  truth.  Perhaps  I 
should  be  answered,  that  the  fair  white  Carrara 
would  be  equally  as  unfaithful  to  the  swart  complex- 
ion of  the  great  Constitutional  Statesman  ;  yet  it 
is  the  pleasantest  delusion  at  least.  Of  course, 
bronze  is  the  only  material -that  can  abide  our  cli- 
mate ;  yet  our  great  cities  possess  halls  and  other 
sheltering  places,  where  the  fatal  frost  and  severe 
sun  could  not  write  their-  lines  of  change  a'nd 
decay,  and  the  hall  could  be  built  for  the  statue, 
since,  in  its  association,  it  would  most  commend 
itself  to  the  popular  favor. 

The  day  opened, —  so  did  not  the  clouds  ;  yet  a 
darker  shadow  than  this  preceded  the  day,  that 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  245 

memorable  day,  when  Webster  crowned  -Bunker 
Hill  Monument.  One  need  not  wonder  at  the 
myriad  of  statues  that  are  found  in  Athens  and  in 
Home.  Whenever  an  inauguration  day  was  needed 
for  them,  a  delicious  sky  looked  down  in  soft  ap- 
proval, while  Grecian  girls  and  Roman  ladies 
looked  up  with  delight.  We  have  faint  promise 
of  any  such  carnival  of  weather  when  our  holi- 
days of  public  gathering  come.  The  New  York 
State  Agricultural  Fair  has  been  the  occasion  of 

O 

an  elaborate  study  of  meteorology. 

This  was  a  famous  historical  day  in  Boston. 
The  "  settlement "  of  Boston  was  two  hundred  and 
twenty-nine  years  old.  Very  absurd  it  was  in  the 
people  of  this  peninsula,  on  the  17th  day  of  Sep- 
tember, 1630,  to  vote  away  from  themselves  the 
Indian-born  designation  of  Shawmut,  and  in  its 
place  to  bestow  on  themselves,  on  their  picturesque 
peninsular  home,  the  copy  of  an  English  village, 
itself  bearing  the  name,  decayed  and  dusted,  from 
that  of  old  Saint  Botolph.  But  what  right  has 
any  man  of  a  state  or  city  which  obliterated  its 
first  nomenclature  before  the  alternate  titles  of  the 
Duke  of  York,  to  make  this  criticism  ?  Remem- 
bering Man-hat- ta,  silence  best  becomes  u  the  oc- 
casion." 

The  bells  rang  out  this  morning  from  steeples 
that  have  shaken  with  peals  proclaiming  peace  or 


246  WHO    GOES    THEME ? 

announcing  victory.  The  voice  of  the  cannon 
spoke  out  the  birthday  of  the  city.  I  found,  in 
the  midst  of  the  pouring  rain,  a  positive  pleasure 
in  witnessing  what  beauty  of  arrangement  the  city 
had  made. 

The  preparations  for  "this  celebration  had  been 
elaborate.  With  the  English  idea  of  thorough- 
ness, which  Boston  has  inherited  and  preserved, 
the  structures  for  the  accommodation  of  the  spec- 
tators are  strongly  built,  so  that  a  delightful  period 
in  an  address  shall  not  find  for  its  reward  a  grand 

O 

crash  instead  of  a  plaudit.  The  Bostonians  have 
a  special  talent  in  celebrations.  Being  orderly, 
they  arrange  pageants  and  processions  without 
danger  of  roughs  or  rowdies  ;  being  intelligent, 
they  have  read  and  remembered,  and  compile  the 
affair  with  attention  to  effect ;  being  educated, 
they  understand  when  the  festivals  in  the  year, 
worthy  of  pageant,  come  round. 

The  entire  area  of  the  State  House  grounds 
was  covered  with  a  platform,  of  course  immense 
in  capacity,  and  with  comfort  of  seat  and  protec- 
tion of  rail,  and  flowers  well  watered.  In  the 
centre  was  the  STATUE,  to  the  inauguration  of 
which  this  day  wras  to  be  devoted.  The  entire 
structure  was  surrounded  with  a  drapery  of  green 
and  purple,  so  that  all  the  look  of  "  shantyism  " 
was  lost.  If  but  the  sun  of  Italy  had  been  the 


WHO    GOES    THERE  1  247 

sky-genius  of  the  occasion  !  On  my  way  thither, 
I  passed  the  statue  of  Franklin.  The  old  man 
bore  the  rain  like  a  philosopher,  as  he  was.  Down 
his  bronze  cheek  and  over  his  brazen  nose  fell  the 
drops ;  but  he  who  sent  a  line  to  the  electric  cloud 
was  not  to  soften  beneath  the  shower.  Despite 
the  wet,  a  group  of  enthusiastic  boys  were  explain- 
ing to  each  other  the  scenes  of  his  science  and  his 
mechanics  and  statesmanship  displayed  on  the  pan- 
elling of  the  pedestal.  The  statue  of  Washing- 
ton was  safe  and  dry  in  a  crypt  of  the  hall ;  and 
thus  we  were  spared  the  pain  of  witnessing  the. 
undignified  spectacle  of  a  dripping  Father  of  his 
Country.  I  like  that  calm,  cold  crypt  in  which 
Canova's  work  is  placed,  with  the  gravestone  of 
the  English  ancestral  home  of  the  Washingtons 
before  it.  It  is  a  refuge  for  one's  quiet  thought 
and  day-drearn  of  Presidential  dignity. 

On  this  seacoast  a  north-east  storm  means  some- 
thing. In  some  other  places,  as  by  the  shores  of 
the  lakes  fo  Western  New  York,  it  is  a  power,  a 
bath,  a  sunshine  smile ;  but  the  smiles  are  not  seen 
here.  The  cloudy  curtain  drew  its  fold  thicker 
and  closer.  Soldiers  and  citizens,  societies  and 
associations,  the  strength  and  beauty  of  the  city, 
doubted  the  wisdom  of  walking  through  the  rain. 
Yet  the  preparations  went  on.  Again  the  bells 
rung  and  the  cannon  fired,  and  sexton  and  gunner 


248          '  WHO   GOES    THERE? 

did  their  duty  in  their  voices  of  peace  and  war. 
It  was  an  affair  which  could  not  be  postponed. 
Fortunately,  in  a  great  city  there  are  great  roof- 
ings, and  shelter  is  for  the  many  as  well  as  for  the 
few  ;  and  so  the  orders  issued,  that  leaving  behind 
the  spacious  and  well-arranged  platform,  where  the 
statue  should  stand  in  the  midst  of  the  multitude, 
the  audience  should  be  gathered  in  the  Music  Hall. 

Mr.  Everett  had  anticipated  this ;  for,  as  the 
party  most  interested,  he  had  probably  acutely 
watched  the  weather;  and,  as  he  had  spoken  such 
charming  words  of  the  skies  and  their  starry  archi- 
tecture, he  might  be  supposed  to  be  their  familiar. 
I  had  seen  a  note  from  him,  in  which  he  says,  — 
"  From  present  appearances,  the  exercises  will 
have  to  be  in  the  Music  Hall,  which,  so  far  as  I 
am  concerned,  I  do  not  regret." 

He  knew  that  the  open  air  is  the  most  severe 
ordeal  for  oratory  ;  that  to  lose  the  voice  in  the 
horizonless  circle  before  him,  is  to  lose  its  com- 
mand ;  that  the  effort  is  to  reach  the  greatest  dis- 
tance, and  that  the  finer  tones  of  the  voice  are 
injuriously  affected  by  this.  Our  American  ora- 
tors have,  in  this,  a  very  severe  trial ;  and  it  is  a 
great  tribute  to  their  power,  that  they  have  so 
often  succeeded.  It  has  been  their  lot  to  talk  to 
their  fellow-men  in  field  and  forest,  in  all  the 
wild  accompaniment  of  the  barbacue,  and  in  the 


WHO    GOES    THEME?  249 

blended  multitude  of  opposing  parties ;  so  that 
American  eloquence  has  had  all  the  education  of 
Demosthenes  by  the  raging  sea-side. 

The  Legislature,  in  full  attendance,  in  defiance 
of  the  storm,  marched  from  the  State  House  to  the 
hall,  with  an  escort  of  soldierly  men,  who  feared 
no  elemental  strife,  and  to  the  sounds  of  music 
that  cheered  us  in  the  gloom.  On  these  law- 
makers of  Massachusetts  moved.  Their  gentlemen 
of  the  white  rod  kept  all  in  place ;  and  following 
them,  as  one  walks  safely  near  so  much  of  power, 
I  found  access  to  the  hall. 

This  Music  Hall  has  ample  dimension ;  and  on 
platform  and  on  floor  and  in  galleries  gave  con- 
venient place  for  hearing.  At  first  the  attendance 
was  small,  for  the  honorable  legislators  had  arrived 
early  ;  but  we  thus  had  time  to  look  around,  and 
see  whoever  of  greatness  should  come  among  the 
audience, —  such  being  the  reward  of  the  punctual. 
The  galleries,  appropriated  to  the  ladies,  were  soon 
filled  ;  showing  the  varied  hues  of  ornament,  which 
alike  in  saloon  where  it  cannot  rain,  and  in  any 
country  at  the  height  of  the  wet  season,  the  ladies 
will  wear,  having  excellent  reasons  for  such  conduct, 
quite-  above  the  dull  comprehension  of  man.  In 
poured  the  solid  and  the  fragile  men  of  Boston, 
and  the  great  hall  soon  showed  that  spectacle, 
always  so  impressive,  of  a  vast  crowd,  a  mighty 


250  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

concourse.  They  filled  the  building  from  floor  to 
roof,  and  this,  too,  in  a  day  when  every  consid- 
eration of  comfort  pointed  to  the  inside  of  one's 
home. 

The  arrival  of  one  man  told  the  reason  why  that 
crowd  was  there.  It  was  Edward  Everett ;  and 
when  he  entered,  the  multitude  realized  that  they 
were  to  be  rewarded  for  all  frowning  of  the  gloomy 
sky.  He  had  unusual  difficulties  before  him  in 
this  oration,  —  not  of  the  subject,  for  that  was  of 
the  grandeur  to  which  his  mind  came  by  step  of 
nature, —  but  because  the  mind  of  all  the  country 
had  thought  it  out  and  spoken  it  out.  He  had 
himself  spoken  of  it  repeatedly.  But  it  was  a 
theme  involving  discrimination  and  delineation  of 
qualities  existing  beyond  the  hour.  Mr.  Webster's 
fame  was  of  the  blended  statesman  and  philoso- 
pher, and  needed  the  analysis  of  a  master  hand. 

As  soon  as  the  rush  of  human  beings  had  been 
calmed  into  order,  a  quarter  door  of  lattice-work, 
at  the  rear  of  the  platform,  was  thrown  open,  and 
then  rolled  forth  the  grand  harmonies  of  the 
organ  (not  the  organ  which  is  now  the  glory  of 
that  hall),  in  its  power  swelling  or  soothing,  as  the 
score  demanded.  I  have  heard,  when  there  were 
but  very  few  present,  the  sweetness  of  the  organ's 
note,  as,  with  a  master  of  the  art  at  the  keys,  the 
hymn  of  the  plaintive  P  ley  el  was  breathed  softly 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  251 

and  solemnly.     It  was,  in  contrast  to  this,  to  hear 
its  strength  over  such  a  concourse. 

o 

And  then  a  marshal,  with  a  golden  wand, 
brought  the  assemblage  to  due  order,  and  prayer  was 
made.  A  prayer  is  never  a  subject  for  criticism. 
A  good  prayer  is  neither  long  nor  declarative ;  nor 
does  it  anticipate  speech  or  sermon.  The  words 
of  a  prayer,  we  are  wisely  told,  should  be  "  few 
and  well  chosen." 

Professor  Felton,  of  Harvard,  as  the  chairman 
of  the  committee  under  whose  action  the  statue 
had  been  made,  made  the  formal  presentation  to 
Mayor  Lincoln.  The  Professor  was  interesting 
and  classical,  and  spoke  as  a  college-man  should 
speak.  His  historical  allusions  were  precise,  and 
the  more  valuable  because  fully  measured  before 
uttered. 

The  Mayor  and  Governor  Banks  did  admirably 
their  duty  in  the  order  of  the  proceedings.  Both 
are  living,  and  out  of  the  plan  of  this  volume ; 
and  long,  long  delayed  may  be  the  duty  of  their 
biographer,  who  shall  await  that  which  is  the  only 
proper  theme,  a  completed  and  concluded  career. 

Mr.  Everett  was  not  introduced,  nor  was  there 
need  of  it.  When  he  rose,  such  welcome  was 
given  him  as  would  have  taken  the  impediment 
from  the  tongue  of  Demosthenes.  It  was  a  wel- 
come to  be  prized,  for  it  was  that  of  a  vast  throng 


252  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

of  educated  and  intelligent  men;  and  "what  made 
it  of  higher  value,  it  was  given  him  at  his  own 
home.  He  must  have  felt  the  worth  of  this, 
deeply.  His  address  has  passed  into  volume,  and 
is  of  that  series  of  Public  Discourses  which  form 
Mr.  Webster's  proudest  monument.  It  has  re- 
ceived the  approbation  of  those  who  value,  and 
who  know  how  to  value,  the  words  that  are  born 
of  intellect.  His  voice  was  excellent,  and  it  grew 
clearer  to  the  close.  Often  hearing  him,  he 
seemed  to  me,  on  this  occasion,  unusually  earnest 
in  gesture,  his  delivery  reaching,  at  times,  the 
fervid  in  character.  I  had  been  anxious  to  hear 
him  at  Boston,  and  amidst  his  associations  of 
friends,  as  I  had  in  places  remote  and  among  stran- 
gers. He  proved  himself  here,  as  everywhere,  the 
same  glowing,  winning,  charming  orator. 

Now,  to  me,  the  amazing  feature  of  his  address 
was  in  this :  I  knew  that  he  was  not  speaking  all 
that  he  had  prepared,  as  he  had  shown  me,  in  his 
library,  the  day  previous,  the  manuscript ;  and  he 
had,  in  relation  to  this,  written  a  note,  which  is 
before  me,  in  which  he  says :  "  Being  a  good 
deal  too  long  to  be  spoken  in  extenso^  I  shall  only 
be  able  to  speak  parts  of  it  to-day,  in  some  portions 
an  abridgment.  This  will  give  it  rather  a  frag- 
mentary and  occasionally  meagre  appearance." 

The  circumstances  of  the  day  and  the  changed 


WHO    GOES    THERE  ?  253 

programme  caused  him  to  add  other  portions  ap- 
propriate to  the  hour. 

Here  was  that  wonderful  memory,  beyond  all 
ordinary  rule  of  tenacity,  able  not  only  to  hold  all, 
but  to  take  up  and  let  go,  at  pleasure,  parts  sep- 
arate and  removed  from  each  other,  destroying  all 
reliance  on  continuity  of  connection  or  association, 
never  resorting  to  note  or  memorandum,  but  faith- 
ful in  all.  Let  any  one  who  doubts  the  difficulty 
of  this,  try  the  task  of  placing  in  his  memory  a 
series  of  stanzas,  and  then  to  repeat  them,  omitting 
several  at  irregular  intervals. 

Some  passages  in  this  discourse  were  received 
with  applause  that  was  rapturous  and  resistless. 
When  he  used  the  nautical  figure  of  Webster,  as  a 
ship-of-the-line  going  into  battle,  he  touched  the 
hearts  of  these  dwellers  by  the  sea, —  those  familiar 
with  oakum  and  tar, —  and  I  surmised  one  enthusi- 
astic, bald-headed  gentleman,  who  leaned  frantically 
forward,  to  be  a  ship-captain,  or  the  owner  of  a 
yacht,  he  seemed  so  to  delight  in  the  picture. 

I  never  heard,  in  all  oratory,  anything  more  dra- 
matic than  Mr.  Everett's  recitation  of  the  parable 
of  the  Pharisee  and  the  Publican.  It  was  wonderful, 
and  I  place  it  in  my  memory  as  the  most  impressive 
giving-forth  of  Scripture  that  I  ever  heard.  In 
describing  this  afterward,  I  ventured  to  say,  that 
he  must  forgive  one  of  the  most  sincere  of  his  ad- 


254  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

mirers  in  doubting  the  exactness  of  propriety  in 
thus  "using  the  Hoi j  Word  ;  as,  while  the  effect 
winch  he  desired  by  the  illustration  was  produced, 
there  seemed  to  be  an  oblique  direction  given  to 
the  great  thought.  Subsequently,  he  wrote  to 
me :  "  I  did  not  intend,  in  my  use  of  the  parable  of 
the  Pharisee  and  the  Publican,  to  wander  from  the 
intent  in  which  it  was  spoken  by  the  Great 
Teacher ;  and  I  think  I  could  show  you  that  I 
have  not  done  so.  The  intent  of  the  parable  is 
not  to  teach  that  moral  deficiency  is  a  matter  of 
indifference,  but  that  censure  ought  to  come  only 
from  the  pure.  I  have  never  known  Mr.  Webster 
to  be  reviled  by  any  man  whom  I  supposed  to  be 
better  than  himself." 

The  audience  were  evidently  delighted  with  the 
discourse.  Their  attention  was  fixed  and  absorb- 
ing even  amidst  the  reasoning  and  argumentative 
portions,  and  to  every  climax  or  picture  passage, 
the  enthusiastic  voices  rose  in  uncontrollable  emo- 
tion. I  admired,  but  could  not  quite  concede,  his 
desponding,  but  beautifully  expressed,  judgment, 
of  the  fate  of  inventors,  as  instanced  in  the  de- 
cision of  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States 
against  Robert  Fulton,  when  he  claimed  the  exclu- 
sive right  to  navigate,  by  use  of  steam,  the  Hud- 
son. No;  though  Fulton  wras  poor,  and  John 
Fitch  died  a  maniac,  other  and  brighter  pages  are 


WHO    GOES    THERE!  255 

read  by  invention  in  this  age  of  clearer  view  and 
truer  judgment.  Ask  McCormick  whether  his 
reaper  has  not  had  golden  harvest ;  Morse,  whether 
the  magnet  has  not  attracted  to  him  gold  as  well 
as  iron  ;  Howe,  whether  the  "  tread  "  of  the  sew- 
ing-machine is  not  for  him  over  pavement  of  coin. 

A  brief  time  before  he  closed,  the  shadows  of 
the  premature  evening  came  over  the  hall.  The 
light  of  day  waned  and  faded* as  I  have  seen  it 
pass  from  the  rich  and  varied  tintings  of  cathedral 
windows.  The  great  crowd,  in  shade,  but  not  in- 
distinct, heeded  no  departure  of  the  day.  To 
them  and  before  them,  the  intellectual  light  had 
not  set.  Soon  far  up,  nigh  to  the  roof  of  the  hall, 
sprung  into  brilliancy  one  jet  after  another,  till  the 
vast  building  seemed  to  have  put  on  a  coronal  of 
light.  The  statue  of  Beethoven  received  the  lus- 
tre on  its  bronze  drapery ;  the  upturned  faces  of 
the  audience  brightened,  and  a  soft  veil  of  light 
was  over  orator  and  hearer.  The  picture  seemed 
suddenly  painted,  as  accompaniment  to  the  beauty 
of  the  words  that  were  in  utterance. 

With  the  close  of  Mr.  Everett's  discourse,  the 
great  crowd  rushed,  delighted  -and  instructed,  to 
the  pitiless  north-easter,  which  roared  and  moaned 
in  these  streets,  as  though  we  were  in  the  Fitful 
Head  where  Norna  dwelt. 

We  are  but  as  yesterday  from  the  sight  of  the 


256  WHO     GOES    THERE t 

national  honors  so  gracefully  accorded  to  Mr. 
Everett  at  his  death.  The  more  carefully  cultured 
laurel  of  the  historian  will,  in  due  time,  be  placed 
over  his  grave.  In  the  memory  of  the  hundreds 
of  thousands,  his  voice  will  be  their  ideal  of  the 
beautiful  in  oratory ;  and  in  whatever  department 
of  human  action  he  moved,  a  just  estimate  of  him 
will  concede,  that  he  achieved  success  as  useful  as 
it  was  great. 

Mr.  Sheridan  said  that  his  own  master  passion 
was  vanity, —  that  he  could  conquer  all  others.  In 
the  far-off  look,  but  attentive,  however  distant, 
that  I  have  had  of  the  very  great  men  of  this 
country,  I  should  say  that  it  was  just  the  reverse 
of  this  with  them.  They  do  not  seem  to  have 
fully  estimated  the  grandeur  of  their  owrn  position, 
and  were  annoyed  or  disturbed  at  the  lesser  causes 
which  wound  around  them,  without  feeling  (as  the 
People  felt  and  as  History  will  make  record)  how 
vastly  above  all  this  their  station  in  the  truth  of 
fame  was.  Even  the  majestic  George  Washing- 
ton, who  mingled  very  carefully  with  his  fellow- 
men,  was  indignant  at  the  articles  about  himself  in 
the  opposition  newspapers  ;  while  Mr.  Clay  and 
Mr.  Webster,  with  all  their  greatness,  never  saw, 
as  the  world  around  them  saw  clearly,  and  as  is 
even  now  blazing  in  the  light  of  history,  how 
much  greater  honor  the  heart-given  support  of 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  257 

friends,  than  all  the  majorities  the  Electoral  Col- 
lege ever  heard  figured ;  and  Mr.  Everett,  so 
accomplished  and  cultured  in  the  experiences  of 
the  world,  was  greatly  provoked  at  the  injustice  of 
a  portion  of  the  press  toward  him,  —  annoyed  at 
articles  which  nobody  ever  remembered.  In  a  letter 
to  me,  he  says :  "  What  does  a  little  surprise  and  a 
good  deal  grieve  me  is,  that  conservative  and 
friendly  journals,  with  a  very  few  exceptions,  look- 
calmly  on  and  see  this  unexampled  warfare  waged 
upon  me,  in  violation  of  all  the  established  rules 
of  journalism.  Pardon  me  this  burst  of  human 
feeling.  You  have  observed  me  long  enough  to 
know  that  I  am  tolerably  impassive ;  but  the  glacier 
at  length  melts." 
17 


CHAPTER     VII. 

FROM    DANIEL    WEBSTER    TO    ZACHARY    TAYLOR. 

those  who,  at  this  da}r,  hear  the  friends 
of  Daniel  Webster  speak  of  him  in  terms 
of  admiration,  so  warm  and  so  earnest  as 
to  seem  exaggerated,  imagine  that  it  is  but 
in  the  distance  of  the  years  that  such 
things  are  said  ;  that  it  is  only  in  the  mist 
of  time,  which  conceals  defect  and  brightens 
virtue,  that  he  is  seen  as  a  colossal  man ;  they  do 
the  judgment  and  the  accuracy  of  those  friends  in- 
justice. While  Mr.  Webster  lived, —  as  he  moved 
majestically  among  men,  in  his  progress  to  and 
from  Washington,  in  his  seat  in  the  Senate,  in  his 
chair  at  the  State  office,  at  Marshfield,  in  Beacon 
Street,  at  the  Astor  House, —  everywhere  Mr. 
Webster  was  surrounded  by  a  company  of  at- 
tached, devoted,  absorbed  men,  who  knew  that  they 
were  the  friends,  chosen  and  cherished,  of  a  man 
who,  in  intellectual  strength,  had  not  his  equal  in 
all  the  wide,  wide  New  World  ;  and  in  their  friend- 
ship, they  were  sacrificing,  persevering,  unchang- 

(258) 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  259 

ing.  They  believed  that  the  Presidency  was  due 
to  him,  and  for  it  they  waged  a  contest  which 
ended  only  as  his  life  ended.  I  saw  these  devoted 
friends  at  the  Convention  of  1852,  at  Baltimore. 
They  labored  with  a  zeal  and  a  courage  that  was 
proudest  of  all  tributes  to  the  grandeur  of  the  man 
who  could  deserve  or  win  such  service.  What  a 
scene  that  was  when  Choate  was  selected  to  make 
the  champion  speech,  which  should  tell  the  nation 
of  the  public  service  of  the  man  around  whom 
they  clustered  like  the  men  of  Moidart  around 
Charlie  I  That  wildly  picturesque  face,  its  brilliant 
eye, —  the  face  that  would  have  been  seen  and 
noticed  in  a  crowd  of  ten  thousand, —  how  boldly 
that  voice  called  the  tumultuous  Convention  to  the 
order  of  the  fixed  attention  that  eloquence  extorts 
even  from  those  who  shut  their  hearts  to  the  truth  ! 
I  ought  to  remember  well,  and  I  do  so,  when 
I  first  saw  Daniel  Webster ;  for  his,  certainly,  is 
one  of  the  greatest  of  the  historic  names  of  the 
annals  of  this  country.  June  17,  1843,  was 
selected  as  the  time  when  the  top-stone  was  to  be 
placed  on  the  Monument  at  Bunker  Hill.  It  was, 
as  it  might  be  said,  the  sunset  hour  of  revolution- 
ary association.  It  was  expected  to  be  the  last, 
the  final,  the  farewell  gathering  of  those  who  had 
been  the  living  and  moving,  the  struggling  and  the 
suifering  actors  in  that  day,  which,  as  we  now  see 


260  WHO    GOES    THERE* 

it,  opened  a  new  era  in  the  movements  of  mankind, 
and  initiated  a  new  epoch. 

Among  those  whom  I  found  travelling  toward 
Boston,  I  found,  coming  into  the  cars  at  Cayuga 
Bridge,  Josiah  Cleveland,  who  had  acted  as  ensign 
in  the  field  of  the  battle  day,  and  who,  at  the  siege 
and  capitulation  of  Yorktown,  had  been  captain. 
He  was  a  man  of  imposing  presence,  firm  and 
commanding  way,  with  costume  in  fitting  taste  for 
an  aged  man.  He  was  then  ninety  years  of  age. 
The  home  of  his  old  age  was  on  the  banks  of  the 

O 

Susquehanna,"at  Owego,  near  the  sweet  cottage, 
Glen  Mary,  made  famous  by  Mr.  Willis'  inter- 
esting delineation  of  its  incidents  as  his  resi- 
dence. Mr.  Cleveland  came  into  the  cars,  and 
when  asked,  by  some  one  in  the  train,  where  he 
was  going, — "  To  Bunker  Hill,"  said  he,  promptly, 
as  recognizing  only  the  geography  of  the  Revolu- 
tion. His  was  a  long  journey  for  one  so  old,  yet 
he  bore  it,  continued  as  it  was  all  night,  and  he 
reached  Boston  safely, —  reached  it,  never  to  re- 
turn from  it.  The  reaction,  after  all  the  fatigue, 
ended  his  life.  He  was  buried  at  Mount  Auburn, 
and  the  liberality  of  some  of  the  liberal  men  of 
Boston  gave  him  appropriate  monument,  which  is 
to-day  one  of  the  very  many  interesting  sepulchral 
records  of  that  fairest  of  all  the  grave-homes  of  the 
land. 


WHO    GOES    THERE  1  261 

The  day  before  the  festival,  the  16th,  was  a 
gloomy  one.  The  hotels,  and  indeed  all  Boston, 
were  crowded,  and  it  rained  savagely,  just  as  it 
can  rain  on  the  seacoast,  where  the  east  wind 
seems  the  cup-bearer  to  the  earth,  and  fond  of  its 
duty  of  libation.  "  Shall  to-morrow  be  as  this 
day  ?  "  was  the  question  which  citizen  and  stran- 
ger asked  ;  and  we  studied  the  sky  with  an  earnest- 
ness which  is  the  characteristic  of  that  department 
of  meteorology  whose  problem  is  but  to  solve  the 
time  of  the  vapor. 

We  were  somewhat  enlivened  by  the  arrival  of 
President  Tyler,  who,  when  he  came,  certainly 
did  not  find  a  dry  eye  in  the  assemblage  that  sur- 
rounded his  carriage.  He  was  surrounded  by  his 
cabinet,  of  whom  the  most  resistless  intellect  was 
our  own  John  C.  Spencer.  Legre*,  of  South  Caro- 
lina, the  brilliant  and  eloquent  scholar  and  civilian, 
came  also,  and  never  returned,  —  as  he  found,  in 
that  time  of  festivity,  the  appointed  time  for  his 
mortality.  * 

There  were,  also,  arrivals  of  private  gentlemen, 
who.  had  celebrity  of  association.  Among  these 
was  the  venerable  Nicholas  Van  Rensselaer,  of 
Greenbush,  opposite  Albany,  the  gentleman  who 
was,  in  1T77,  selected  by  General  Schuyler  to  act 
as  the  aide-de-camp  in  escort  of  General  Burgoyne 
from  Saratoga  to  the  superb  hospitality  of  the 
Schuyler  mansion  at  Albany. . 


262  WHO    GOES    THERE  1 

The  17th  came,  and  somewhere  I  heard  a  band 
playing  the  barque  carol,  "  Behold  how  brightly 
breaks  the  morning  !  "  and  it  was  so  true,  that  we 
could  have  embraced  that  band  from  bassoon  to 
triangle.  Boston  was  instantly  radiant.  The  Com- 
mon gleamed  green  glories  in  its  freshly-bathed 
verdure,  and  everywhere  flags  floated  and  bayonets 
glittered,  and  the  people  of  the  city  seemed  re- 
lieved ;  having,  probably,  as  is  the  case  with  most  of 
us  in  our  home-gala  days,  taken  upon  themselves 
the  conduct  of  the  weather  as  an  individual  responsi- 
bility. The  atmosphere  had  been  pleasantly  cooled 
by  the  rain,  and  there  were  just  clouds  enough,  in 
the  beautiful  blue  above  us,  to  curtain  off  the  sum- 
mer sun.  It  was  a  day  for  a  great  fete,  and  the 
people  accepted  the  delightful  gift. 

In  the  morning,  the  President  held  levee  at  the 
Tremont.  Boston  had  prepared  for  the  Chief 
Magistrate  of  the  United  States  a  luxurious  suite 
of  rooms.  We  read,  as  from  the  Court  Circular, 
of  tlje  damask  and  marbles  and  chandeliers  and 
vases  and  claret  and  gold  and  green  of  the  orna- 
ments and  decorations.  I  do  not  mean  to  con- 
demn this.  At  that  time  it  was  less  in  the  line  of 
life,  public  or  private,  to  be  as  ornate,  but  our  plain 
and  simple  theory  is  but  a  theory.  The  taste  for 
display,  for  magnificence,  is  in  the  people.  It  is  so 
in  wedding  procession  to  the  chancel,  in  funeral 
cortege  to  the  tomb. 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  263 

At  the  levee  I  saw  Colonel  Miller,  whose  name 
is  famous  in  the  history  of  the  war  of  1812,  be- 
cause, when  General  Jacob  Brown  asked  him  if 
he  would  take  a  certain  battery,  his  modest  answer 
(followed  by  his  successful  storming  of  it)  was, 
"  I'll  try,  sir,"  —  words  wliich  became  a  motto  of 
soldierly  daring. 

There  was  something  of  English  arrangements 
for  the  seeing  of  the  procession.  Eligible  places 
were  offered  to  rent.  I  noticed  that  a  very  con- 
venient gallery  of  this  kind  was  ingeniously  placed 
on  a  part  of  the  "  Old  South,"  which,  if  it  was 
intended  to  accommodate  the  minister  and  elders 
of  that  time-honored  sanctuary,  showed  an  anxiety 
for  the  care  of  the  hierarchy  well  becoming  the 
City  of  the  Pilgrims. 

There  was  the  utmost  order  in  the  crowd  which 
awaited* the  procession's  coming.  It  was  like  the 
order  in  the  streets  of  Montreal  as  the  Prince  of 
Wales  moved  through,  and  like  the  good  regula- 
tion of  the  streets  of  Albany  as  the  funeral  pag- 
eant of  the  murdered  President  was  borne  along. 
Every  window  of  every  house  along  the  line  of 
the  route  was  thronged,  from  the  paper  pasteboard 
to  the  plate  glass.  I  was  amused  at  seeing  the 
perplexed  toll-gatherer  of  Warren  Bridge  endeav- 
oring to  collect  his  lawful  dues  from  each  pedes- 
trian, while  the  vast  crowd,  in  so  many  ways, 


264  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

went  all  around  him.  The  Revenue  Cutter,  Cap- 
tain Sturgis,  beautifully  decorated  with  flags,  was 
moored  at  the  precise  spot,  where,  on  the  day  of 
the  battle,  the  British  vessel,  the  Glasgow,  lay,  and 
from  whence  it  cannonaded  the  Pleights.  Among 
other  banners,  this  vessel  bore  the  famous  old  pine- 
tree  banner  of  ancient  Massachusetts. 

Just  at  the  side  of  the  monument,  which,  in  ex- 
cellent taste,  had  no  other  decoration  than  four 
flags  pointing  to  each  compass  direction,  was  ar- 
ranged an  immense  amphitheatre  of  seats,  which 
were  already  thronged  with  the  daughters  of  the 
land,  who  had  come  at  an  early  hour,  and  who, 
whatever  might  be  their  faint  chance  of  seeing, 
had  the  luxury  of  being  seen  ;  and  this  is  a  chap- 
ter in  the  great  book  of  the  compensations  of  life, 
which  deserves  to  be  looked  at  very  carefully  and 
written  about  ingeniously. 

Some  of  the  sovereign  people  did  not  relish  the 
military  discipline  which  kept  the  space  open  and 
clear  till  the  arrival  of  the  President.  I  was 
amused  at  the  quaint  remark  of  an  old  gentleman, 
who  had  been  made  to  walk  out  of  the  forbidden 
ground  in  gentle  quick  time,  that  there  were  "  as 
many  slaves  here  as  there  were  on  the  day  of  the 
battle." 

The  scene  at  the  Monument  was  of  the  great 
pictures  that  history  paints  :  the  blue  sky  above,— 


WHO    GOES    THERE  1  265 

the  mighty  Monument  seeking  the  upper  air,  its 
four  streamers  pointing  to  every  quarter  of  this 
free  land,  the  colors  of  star  and  stripe  exquisitely 
in  contrast  with  the  azure  of  the  heavens,  —  at  the 
base  of  the  Monument  all  the  different  hues  of 
the  varied  dresses  of  the  thousands  of  ladies,  —  a 
garden  of  living  flowers. 

Mr.  Webster  felt  the  impulse  of  the  hour ;  and 
its  incidents  would  have  stirred  the  living  heart  of 
any  man  ;  certainly  of  him  who  was  selected  from 
amidst  all  the  nation  to  speak  the  words  that 
should  enshrine  that  hour.  The  crowd  before  him 
was  vast.  It  was  a  great  gathering  from  lands  re- 
mote and  near  ;  for,  to  this  hour,  the  attention  of 
the  whole  people  had  been  awakened.  The  Pres- 
ident of  the  United  States  and  his  cabinet  were  at 
his  side.  It  was  the  homage  of  the  power  of  place 
to  the  power  of  mind.  And  he  was  surrounded 
also  by  those  whom  only  this  scene  could  have  de- 
layed in  their  movement  to  the  grave.  The  vicin- 
age of  the  opening  battle-fields  of  the  Revolution 
were  represented  by  numbers  whose  feeble  life  ener- 
gies culminated  in  the  effort  to  reach  this  day  and 
place.  There  were  one  hundred  and  eleven  veri- 
table revolutionary  soldiers  present.  Of  these,  the 
youngest  man  was  seventy-four.  (He  must  have 
been  a  very  young  soldier,  if  he  took  part  in  the 
Revolution.)  Four  of  them,  —  the  Harringtons, 


266  WHO    GOES    THERE f 

Bigelow,  and  Johnson,  —  had  been  in  the  opening 
skirmishes  of'  Concord  and  Lexington,  —  those 
morning  guns  of  a  long  roll  of  war,  which  has 
had  faint  and  few  intervals  of -silence  from  that 
hour. 

I  am  a  little  incredulous  about  revolutionary 
certificates, —  but  one  of  these  men,  Levi  Harring- 
ton, seems  to  have  been  of  the  two  who  signed  a 
brief  note  mentioning  April  25,  1775,  the  Lexing- 
ton affair. 

There  was  a  preliminary  prayer,  made  by  a 
gentleman  who  had  written  a  history  of  the  battle. 
When  the  corner-stone,  in  1824,  was  laid,  the 
opening  prayer  was  made  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Thax- 
ter,  who,  fifty  years  previous,  as  chaplain  of  Pres- 
cott's  regiment,  had  made  the  prayer  just  before 
the  fight.  In  1824,  he  was  the  only  survivor  of  the 
regiment ;  the  hearers  of  his  former  prayer  were 
all  in  the  grave  ;  he  and  the  Being  whom  he  ad- 
dressed were  alone. 

There  was  great  kindness  shown  to  visitors  on 
this  occasion,  and  I  found,  through  the  kindness 
of  Josiah  Quincy,  Jr.,  a  place  on  the  platform, 
where  I  could  write,  and  from  whence  I  could  see 
Mr.  Webster  very  distinctly.  His  sentences  were 
so  well  made,  having  such  completeness  of  ar- 
rangement, that  he  was  an  easy  man  to  report ; 
but  my  attention  was  drawn  from  the  words  to 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  267 

the  orator.  He  had  the  sagacity, —  for,  in  Mr. 
Webster  there  always  seemed  to  be  plan  and  pur- 
pose, and  hence  I  could  not  use  the  word  tact,  as 
I  should  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Clay, —  he  had  the 
sagacity  to  avail  himself  of  all  the  positions  of  the 
day,  of  what  it  presented  .to  oratory;  so  he  made 
glowing  welcome  to  the  old  soldiers;  he  was  grand 
about  the  battle,  about  our  nationality  ;  he  de- 
clared that,  in  the  event  of  the  dissolution  of  the 
Union,  he  would  avert  his. eyes  from  it  forever. 
He  aroused,  to  all  the  grandeur,  of  a  demonstration, 
the  crowd,  by  his  bright  words  concerning  Washing- 
ton. At  this  word  of  love  and  honor  concerning 

t? 

the  grand  old  Virginian,  the  tumultuous  plaudits  of 
the  crowd  could  not  be  restrained,  and  somebody 
shouted  out,  "  Three  cheers,  three  cheers  all  over 
the  world !  "  A  proposition  which  the  then 
densely-crowded  area  of  Bunker  Hill  agreed  to, 
and  fulfilled  to  the  strength  of  their  voices;  and  the 
sound  of  a  mighty  multitude  has  always  in  it  the 
majestic. 

So  soon  as  the  oration  was  concluded,  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States  rose,  and,  as  I  thought 
at  the  time  of  observing  it,  very  gracefully  con- 
gratulated Mr.  Webster ;  and  his  example  was  fol- 
lowed by  his  cabinet ;  and  throughout  the  con- 
course there  was  a  stir  and  a  sensation,  as  if  they 
had  been  in  themselves  somewhat  of  history  that 
day. 


268  WHO    GOES    THERE* 

There  was  a  great  banquet,  in  the  evening,  at 
Faneuil  Hall ;  and  without  departing  from  the 
limitations  of  this  work,  it  is  curious  record  to  make, 
that,  on  that  occasion,  the  toast  given  by  President 
Tyler  was,  "  The  Union, — union  of  purpose,  union 
of  feeling. —  the  Union  established  by  our  fathers." 
The  toast  given  almost  at  the  initiative  of  the 
feast,  was,  "  South  Carolina  and  Massachusetts, — 
shoulder  to  shoulder  they  went  through  the  Revo- 
lution, laying  up  for  each  other  great  treasures  of 
glory  ;  the  sons  never  will  divide  the  great  inherit- 
ance." And  Mr.  Upshur,  of  Virginia,  the  then 
Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  gave,  as  his  sentiment, 
"  Massachusetts, —  foremost  in  the  conflict  by 
which  our  liberties  were  won,  and  foremost  to 
show  us  what  our  liberties  are  when  won." 

A  day  so  magnificent,  its  celebration  became  a 
renewed  era  in  the  history  of  Boston.  The  old 
soldiers  went  home  to  die  ;  the  Monument  was 
completed  record,  and  the  last  chapter  of  Revolu- 
tionary companionship  was  finished. 

Mr.  Webster  was  a  man  who,  to  such  a  prepared 
and  anticipated  event,  would  bring  all  the  intellect- 
ual power  that  the  hour  required.  He  was  best  in 
these,  because  he  prepared  with  full  sense  of  the 
value  of  that  which  was  before  him  as  his  duty, 
and  he  thought  of  the  after-study  of  his  words  ; 
and  hence  it  was  his  design  that  they  should  m  be 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  269 

worthy  of  that  study.  Mr.  Clay  thought  of  the 
effect ;  and  the  one  saw  mankind  as  his  students, — 
the  other,  as  his  soldiers.  Mr.  Webster  had  greater 
ideas  of  the  dignity  of  reason.  Mr.  Clay  desired 
to  mould  the  men  before  him  to  his  sway,  and  in 
their  impulses  his  own  kindled  and  grew  larger 
and  greater.  I  have  heard  Mr.  Webster  when  I 
did  not  especially  care  to  hear  longer  at  that  time. 
I  never  heard  Mr.  Clay  but  that  all  else,  hunger 
or  occupation,  was  forgotten  in  the  wish  to  hear 
more  from  him. 

I  saw  Mr.  Webster  enter  the  superbly  decorated 
dining-room  of  the  Astor  House,  when  a  banquet 
was  given  by  the  St.  Nicholas  Society  to  the  officer? 
of  a  Netherlands  man-of-war,  and,  heralded  by 
the  graceful  and  winning  voice  of  Ogden  Hoffman, 
itself  a  perpetual  pleasure,  he  rose  to  the  hour 
in  wise  and  worthy  word  of  welcome  to  the  Hol- 
lander ;  and  so,  that  evening,  the  mariners  of  the 
land  that  has  to  fight  the  sea  itself,  saw  and  heard 
the  best  representative  of  New  England,  and  the 
brightest  and  most  distinguished  of  those  whose 
ancestors  had  thought  it  a  pleasant  filial  tribute  to 
give  the  land  to  which  Hendrick  Hudson,  had 
piloted  them,  the  name  of  New  Netherlands. 

,For  such  a  scene  as  this,  Ogden  Hoffman  was  most 
felicitous  of  chairmen.  As  the  Scotch  ballad  says, — 

*  "  His  very  voice  had  music  in  it/* 


270  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

and  he  knew  what  word  was  most  in  unison  with 
the  sparkle  of  the  hour.  u  Often,  often,"  said  he, 
"  have  we  had  in  our  festivals  brilliants,  jewelry 
of  intellect,  but  never,  till  this  hour,  could  I  pre- 
sent to  you,  as  I  do  now,  the  Koh-i-noor,  the 
Mountain  of  Light ! "  And  then  rose  Web- 
ster, and,  with  that  grandly  grave  superiority 
which  so  well  became  him,  centred  at  once  the 
attention  of  all.  I  doubt  not  our  guests,  in  their 
quiet  houses  by  the  dykes,  often  recall  that  even- 
ing ;  and,  as  they  remember  its  hospitalities,  breathe 
kindly  wish  for  the  welfare  of  those  who  would 
not  forget  that  something  in  them  yet  toned  to  the 
memories  or  the  traditions  of  the  land  that  loves 
and  fears  the  ocean. 

That  was  a  famous  evening  when  Mr.  Webster 
presided  over  the  assembled  literati,  who  gathered 
to  do  honor  to  the  memory  of  America's  greatest 
author,  James  Fennimore  Cooper.  I  think  it  was 
very  honorable  to  Mr.  Webster  that  he  was  thus 
called  to  preside,  for  the  guild  of  letters  had  many 
high  and  honorable  names  in  their  own  right,  there 
assembled.  Dressed  in  that  buff  and  blue,  which 
belonged  to  him,  as  thorough!  v  as  one  of  these 
colors  was  the  badge  of  those  fast  friends  of  Mi. 
Fox,  who  were  toasted  by  Mrs.  Crewe,  he  was 
soon  interested  in  the  scene,  as  all  the  audience 
were  in  him  ;  and  as  Mr.  Irving,  just  as  quick  as 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  271 

possible,  made  brief  announcement  of  the  purposes 
of  the  evening,  the  Statesman  called  forth  the 
men  whose  names  were  the  head  and  front  and 
heart  of  the  literature  of  America. 

I  saw  him   at   the   time,- — a  worn,  wasted   old 

man, —  coming   slowlv  down  the  staircase  of  the 

i/ 

Astor  House.  .  It  was  the  other  side  to  the  grand 
Statesman,  and  the  equipage  of  the  evening,  rising, 
by  the  strength  of  his  broad  and  philosophical  in- 
tellect,- above  all  the  rank  that  letters  confer.  Per- 
haps it  was  not  in  all  the  proprieties  of  the  event, 
that  any  other  but  a  great  author  should  have 
been  the  leading  mind  in  the  funeral  honor  of  the 
author  who  Jiad  established  for  his  country  so  high 
a  place  in  the  world's  literature ;  yet  it  was  to  be 
seen  in  another  light,  and  in  that  view  where  could 
the  greatest  Statesman  of  the  Union  be  most  ap- 
propriately prominent,  but  at  this  tribute  to  the 
greatest  of  the  literary  men  of  the  Republic. 

I  left  Mr.  Clay's  side  (and  I  speak  this  of  my- 
self only  because  I  believe  that  in  it  I  represented 
the  mass  who  stood  around  me)  willing  to  do  any- 
thing, be  anything,  he  wished  me  to  do,  or  that 
would  win  triumph  for  him.  I  left  Mr.  Webster 
strong,  and  convinced  that  he  had  the  right  and 
deserved  the  victory;  but  there  might  be  doubt 
about  the  full  duty  of  self-sacrifice  to  promote  that 
end. 


272  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

I  regret  that  I  never  saw  Mr.  Calhoun,  because 
he  was,  in  the  universal  acceptation  of  his  day,  a 
man  who  deserved  the  first  place  among  statesmen. 
Those  who  knew  him  tell  me  of  the  intense  devo- 
tion to  him  personally  which  characterized  his  fol- 
lowers, and  that,  when  he  died,  the  leading  men 
who  had  made  him  their  master,  indicated  all  the 
personal  sorrow  that,  of  old,  the  clans  had  in  the 
hour  of  the  passing  away  of  a  chieftain. 

To  no  man  is  there  such  universal  testimony 
of  wonderful  power  given  as  has  reached  me  on 
all  sides  concerning  the  oratory  of  Sargeant  S. 
Prentiss.  It  is  fame  of  the  highest  order  to  be 
avouched,  as  he  has  been,  in  the  grandeur  of  elo- 
quence, of  that  might  of  the  intellect  which  made 
the  multitude,  educated  or  unlearned,  confess  their 
willing  thraldom.  Mr.  Everett  described  to  me 
interestingly  the  great  effect  which  Prentiss  pro- 
duced on  himself  when  he  first  heard  him  at  Fan- 
euil  Hall ;  and,  said  Mr.  Everett,  I  heard  him  at 
"the  close  of  a  fatigued  dinner,  when  others 
who  had  preceded  him  had  taken  more  than  their 
share  of  the  time,  and  I  turned  to  Mr.  Webster, 
who  sat  next  me,  to  express  my  delight,  and  Mr. 
Webster  declared  that  Prentiss  was  always  thus. 
Equal  praise  proceeded  to  him  from  Charles  King, 
whose  life  has  given  him  the  best  opportunity 
to  hear  the  best  men.  When  Prentiss  was  dis- 


GudS    THERE  ? 


covered  as  a  passenger  on  boar;!  of  one  of  tne 
Mississippi  steamboats,  at  a  side-river  town,  the 
crowd  insisted  on  his  speaking.  He  addressed 
them  ;  and  the  crowd  were  in  the  spell  of  the 
magician  as  the  engineer  of  the  boat  appeared  and 
declared  that  he  had  held  the  rush  of  the  steam 
back  as  long  as  was  possible  to  prevent  interrup- 
tion by  the  noise,  and  that  it  must  now  escape,  or 
the  boiler  burst.  All  the  answer  he  got  from 
the  charmed  crowd  was,  "  Let  it  burst." 

Of  the  Bar,  I  saw  most  of  those  who  gave 
dignity  to  the  profession,  whose  theory  is,  —  the 
most  skilful  and  accurate  analysis  of  proof,  in  evi- 
dence and  fact,  to  develop  the  truth,  —  a  theory, 
which,  like  many  texts  in  sermons,  is  preached 
from.  I  was  most  impressed  with  William  H. 
Maynard,  who  died  at  the  very  initiation  of  the 
career  of  a  very  great  man.  He  was  counsel  in  a 
cause  when  I  had  an  interest  to  see  him  unsuccess- 
ful ;  but,  in  face  of  all  my  wishes,  my  justice 
could  not  deny  him  the  plaudit  of  greatness.  He 
seemed  to  be  a  master,  adroit  and  learned,  and  of 
that  class  of  men  who  make  reason  of  assertion,  — 
who  so  frame  their  words  as  that  they  are  invinci- 
ble in  demonstration  as  they  move  on. 

Nicholas  Hill  was  a  name  of  eminence  beyond 
its  lustre  in  the  circles  of  legal  lore  that  form  at 
the  Capitol,  in  the  place  where  the  highest  judici- 

18 


274  WHO    GOES    THERE * 

ary  sits  in  deliberation.  In  the  study  of  every 
counsellor  in  New  ^orK,  ana  in  many  beyond  the 
confines  of  the  great  State,  —  indeed,  of  every  one 
conversant  with  the  best  of  his  great  profession, — 
the  name  of  this  gentleman  was  uttered  with  re- 
spect, indeed,  with  admiration,  and  the  tidings 
of  his  death  —  his  clock  of  time  ceasing  its  move- 

O 

ment  while  yet  the  noon  of  intellect  was  at  its 
height  —  came  like  the  sudden  alarm  of  the  night. 
He  died  in  the  advance  of  his  learning,  and  in  the 
onward  step.  The  brain  that  admitted  the  fatal 
heat  of  the  fever  was  already  warm  with  the  glow 
of  study,  and  death  came  by  the  door  which  himself 
had  opened  widest ;  and  in  the  augmenting  of  the 
treasures  of  his  learning,  he  died  amidst  its  accu- 
mulations. 

It  was  to  me  always  a  scene  of  interest  to  witness 
the  fixed  attention  with  which  the  Court  of  Ap- 
peals listened  to  him.  I  so  often  see  those  wearied 
and  much-enduring  eight  forced  to  pay  the  homage 
of  the  outward  ear  to  counsel  whose  arguments 
are  but  assertions,  and  points  dulness,  that  to  see 
this  exchanged  for  an  impressed,  interested  defer- 
ence is  a  relief.  It  is  as  if  some  indulgence  had 
been  granted  to  the  tasked  laborer. 

That  court  knew  that  Mr.  Hill  was  a  lawyer,  in 
the  high  sense  of  that  word  ;  that  the  flame  he  lit 
before  them  was  of  beaten  oil ;  that  the  argument 


WHO    GOES    THERE t  275 

he  formed  for  their  consideration  deserved  it,  and 
that  they  might  well  tread  that  path  of  authorities, 
to  the  doctrines  and  conclusions  of  which  he  cited 
them.  They  heard,  as,  of  old,  Spencer  heard 
Henry,  as  Van  Ness  heard  Wells,  as,  in  date  more 
remote,  Jay  heard  Hamilton.  Rising  above  and 
going  beyond  the  hasty  and  half-considered  con- 
duct of  a  cause,  rather  than  its  preparation,  Mr. 
Hill  revived  the  day  of  the  sound  student  of  the 
law,  who  had,  with  that  philosophy  which  is  the 
clear  glass  that  learning  in  all  departments  of  its 
action  uses,  investigated,  analyzed,  formed  the  law, 
and  was  able  to  enunciate  all  its  truths. 

Of  pale,  wan  look,  of  feeble,  shattered  frame, 
the  paralyzed  arm  giving  gesture  of  imperfect 
movement,  though  of  correct  expression,  he  rose 
before  the  court  like  one  who  knew  the  dignity  of 
the  lawyer's  art,  and  who  knew,  as  observing  men 
must  know,  that  the  master  of  the  law  is  the  mas- 
ter of  our  nature. 

What  an  array  of  counsel  was  gathered  in  the 
great  North  American  Trust  Company  case! 
What  side  of  many-sided  legal  propositions  was 
there  but  that  light  came  on  it  thence  ?  It  was  a 
great  gathering  of  the  worthiest  of  those  who 
grace  the  roll  of  the  civilians  of  New  York. 

Mr.  Hill  confined  his  practice  to  the  highest 
court,  and  wisely  ;  for  study,  such  as  he  gave,  was 


276  WHO    GOES    THERE* 

remunerated  only  by  a  settlement  of  the  question 
in  review.  He  felt  the  majesty  of  the  law.  One 
of  the  last  words  I  heard  him  utter  was  his  re- 
mark to  me,  as  we  talked  of  some  decision  where 
the  c'ourt  had  been  compelled  to  exercise  its 
most  disagreeable  power,  that  of  declaring  the  in- 
terpretation of  some  patronage-making  law  of  a 
partisan  legislature.  He  expressed  his  belief  that 
the  decision  of  the  court  would  find  acquiescence. 
"  We  are  a  loyal  people,"  said  he.  I  did  not 
think  he  was  so  soon  thereafter  to  illustrate  the 
universal  loyalty  of  our  race,  —  the  homage  to  the 
grave. 

The  life  of  William  Curtis  Noyes  was  closed  in 
the  zenith  of  his  capacity  to  make  it  a  most  useful 
one.  To  have  acted  with  him  in  the  delineation 
of  Mr.  Storrs'  career,  would  have  been  agreeable 
labor ;  for  its  association  with  himself  would  have 
made  the  hours  to  be  remembered  most  kindly.  I 
liked  the  way  in  which  Mr.  Noyes  dignified  his 
own  profession.  He  believed  in  its  chivalry,  in 
tracing  back  its  wisdom  in  the  long  roll  of  grand 
jurists,  and  he  thought  their  words  the  heritage  of 
our  own  time.  He  was  lofty  in  his  ambition  con- 
cerning the  law,  and  used  the  fine  intellect  he 
possessed  to  make  the  place  of  the  first  counsel  in 
the  metropolis  —  if  such  honor  he  should  ever 
attain  —  something  of  a  dignity,  which,  though 


WHO    GOE8    THERE ?  277 

robeless  and  unermined,  should  be  a  name  for  the 
respect  of  all  men. 

Some  of  the  most  famous  of  the  world-wide 
travellers  I  have  seen.  It  would,  probably,  be  a 
more  valuable  recollection,  if  I  could  state  which 
of  the  two  pioneers  of  the  trans-Mississippi  West, 
Lewis  or  Clarke,  a  venerable  man,  with  whom  the 
chances  of  packet-boat  journeying  brought  me. 
He  was  pointed  out  at  the  time  as  worthy  of  a  dis- 
tinct gaze. 

I  met,  at  Cincinnati,  a  gentleman  who  recol- 
lected well,  that  when  he  was  of  the  number  of 
those  who  formed  an  unsuccessful  expedition  to 
accomplish  the  passage  of  the  Yellow  Stone  river, 
Daniel  Boone  came  down  to  the  wharf, —  .a  gentle, 
dignified,  impressive  old  man, —  to  see  the  steam- 
boat bound  on  an  expedition  so  far  beyond  the  ut- 
most limit  to  which  his  step,  so  bold  in  all  adven- 
ture that  could  prepare  the  way  for  civilization, 
had  reached. 

John  L.  Stephens,  who  wrote  that  delightful 
book  of  travel  in  the  Holy  Land,  was  a  genial  and 
very  agreeable  gentleman,  much  more  in  his  voca- 
tion as  a  traveller  and  an  author,  than  in  the  dusty 
ways  of  statesmanship,  where,  as  a  member  of  the 
Constitutional  Convention  of  1846,  I  saw  much 
of  him.  He  had  the  kindly  way  of  a  man  who 
has  seen  more  than  one  chapter  of  human  life, 


278  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

and  I  think  had  less  of  that  cynicism,  that  univer- 
sal doubt  of  everybody,  which  appertains  to  great 
travellers,  who,  in  the  general  wrong,  or  insuffi- 
ciency, forget  that  they  have  passed  through  life 
rather  than  dwelt  in  it. 

But  the  name  among  travellers  which  is  best 
known,  by  its  deeply  shadowed  fate,  is  that  of  Sir 
John  Franklin.  While  he  was  on  his  way  over- 
land to  the  North,  and  then,  I  believe,  in  the 
duty,  which  the  whole  civilized  world  has  assumed 
respecting  himself,  of  a  search  after  somebody 
who  overstayed  his  time,  and  who,  it  was  feared, 
was  in  great  want  of  food  or  warmth  somewhere 
in  the  vast  North, —  I  saw  this  distinguished  ad- 
venturer at  the  rooms  of  the  Albany  Library. 

I  believe  the  Albany  Library  rose  out  of  a  col- 
lection of  books  made  by  the  officers  of  Fort 
Orange  and  Fort  Frederick,  in  the  day  when  those 
fortresses  were  the  temporary  home  of  the  edu- 
cated English  army  officer,  whose  range  of  feasting 
and  flirtation  was  not  so-great  as  to  preclude  the 
coming  over  him  of  ennui.  Whether  I  am  right  in 
this  idea  of  its  origin  or  not,  at  the  hour  when  the 
great  Northman  visited  it,  it  was  situated  in  the  up- 
per story  of  a  building  since  removed  by  the  citv»  to 
give  greater  width  to  the  river-end  of  State  Street,  or 
else  in  the  space  now  included  by  the  Exchange. 
It  was  before  the  ambition  of  Albany  required  a 


WHO    GOES    THERE t  279 

broader  State  Street ;  and  the  ascent  to  this  deposit 
of  literature  was  by  a  narrow  and  steep  staircase, 
in  ascending  which  the  juveniles  had  the  great  ad- 
vantage, and  of  which,  in  a  progress  for  the  last 
44  Waverley,"  that  treasure  always,  we  were  not 
slow  to  avail  ourselves.  The  librarian  had  the 
very  name  for  profundity, —  an  unpronounceable 
German  one.  He  was  clever,  that  is,  obliging, 
although  not  insensible  to  the  annoyance  of  suc- 
cessive journeys  to  all  the  shelves,  to  suit  the  tastes 
of  those  visitors  who,  not  finding  "  in  "  Ivanhoe  or 
Rob  Roy,  and  not  having  come  with  their  literary 
appetite  prepared  for  any  other  food,  mumbled  very 
miscellaneously.  We  knew  just  where  the  books 
were  kept ;  we  were  habitues,  and  were  indulged, 
sometimes,  I  believe,  to  such  luxury  as  to  be 
allowed  the  privilege  of  leaping  over  the  counter, 
and,  by  personal  search,  gratifying  a  taste  that 
watched  the  arrival  of  every  new  book,  "  and 
there  were  giants  in  those  days." 

It  was  while  we  were  thus  in  predatory  attend- 
ance on  the  librarian,  that  we  sa\f  enter  the  room, 
attended  by  a  gentleman  who  then  held  distin- 
guished representative  place  in  the  National  Gov- 
ernment, a  grave,  rather  sad-looking  gentleman, 
practical,  compact,  and  dignified,  who  was  made 
known  to  the  custpdian  of  the  books,  as  Captain 
John  Franklin. 


280  WHO    GOES   THERE* 

Like  sensible  boys,  we  turned  from  the  written 
history  to  the  living  one  ;  for  the  reputation  of 
Captain  Franklin,  as  an  Arctic  traveller,  was  recog- 
nized, and  Parry's  voyages  had  made  all  reading 
people  enthusiasts  about  whatever  should  find  way 
into  the  crystal  caverns  of  the  Far  North.  He 
had  been  led  to  the  library  to  consult  an  ancient 
black-covered  volume,  which  was  remembered  by 
us  as  an  old  settler  on  the  shelves, —  one  of  those 
books  which,  like  the  works  of  the  philosophers  of 
Athens,  everybody  admires  at  a  distance.  Its 
subject  was  the  form  of  the  earth,  and  it  had  maps 
or  charts  which  professed  delineation  of  the  near 
and  remote  portions  of  the  globe.  Captain  Frank- 
lin seemed  to  understand,  at  a  glance,  that  it  pre- 
sented no  fact,  in  its  lines  and  figures,  which  could 
aid  him,  for  he  made  a  very  brief  inspection  of 
the  volume.  Fortunately  for  us,  he  was  at  the 
room  long  enough  for  us  to  obtain  a  careful  look 
at  him ;  and  it  must  have  been  an  earnest  im- 
pression, for,  from  that  hour,  my  recollection  of 
him  has  always  been  that  of  a  man  rather  grave 
to  sadness.  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know  why  this 
should  have  been  so  then,  for  no  seer  stood  at  his 
side  to  tell  him  that,  amidst  starving  followers  and 

o 

death-cold  men,  the  then  far-off  summer  days  of 
1847  should  bring  him  to  his  grave ;  while,  living 
or  dead,  the  whole  Christian  world  was  giving 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  281 

wealth,  and  even  life  itself,  to  his  rescue  ;  and  that 
Heaven  was  to  smile  over  the  most  rare  Christian 
union  of  England  and  the  United  States  and 
France  in  a  work  of  love  of  man  for  his  fellow- 
man.  I  should  have  gazed  on  him  even  more 
earnestly  had  I  thought  that  in  him  such  high 
humanity  was  to  concentrate.  Does  any  citizen 
of  Albany  know  "  what  has  become  "  of  the  book 
which  he  at  that  time  consulted  ? 

Alexander  Vattemare  was  a  traveller  of  rare 
experiences,—  a  peculiar  and  rather  an  eccentric 
man,  but  veiy  energetic  and  very  persevering,  and 
the  cause  of  pleasant  and  profitable  embassages  of 
literature  from  one  to  the  other  of  nations.  Presi- 
dent, Emperor,  Pope,  King,  and  Czar  were  all  his 
agents  in  furnishing  to  the  libraries  of  each  other 
the  best  books, —  that  is,  the  costly  national  vol- 
umes, —  which  their  liberality  prepared.  He 
claimed  to  be  the  real  author  of  the  great  Interna- 
tional Exhibitions,  and  told  me  that  it  was  a  chap- 
ter in  the  world's  injustice,  that  Prince  Albert 
should  have  received  so  much  commendation  for 
this.  He  was  an  interesting  talker.  In  the  early 
period  of  his  life,  —  as  M.  Alexander,  —  he  had  ac- 
quired great  celebrity  as  a  ventriloquist,  and  re- 
ceived the  homage  of  an  address,  in  verse,  from 
Sir  Walter  Scott ;  but  even  this,  of  which  any 
man  might  have  been  proud,  did  not  seem  to  recon- 


282  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

cile  him  to  any  association  with  these  memories, 
In  his  Album  Cosmopolitique,  there  was  abundant 
evidence  that  he  had  been  a  very  successful  and 
popular  man.  I  recollect  there  was  a  superb  por- 
traiture of  his  daughter,  whom  he  seemed  to  guard 
carefully  from  association  with  his  ventriloquial 
career. 

On  one  occasion  he  accompanied  me  to  exam- 
ine, at  my  request,  a  superb  engraving  of  the 
celebrities  of  the  Court  of  Napoleon.  He  looked 
at  them,  but  soon  desisted,  declaring  that  they  pain- 
fully revived  old  memories.  In  a  man  -of  less  real 
experience  in  the  saloons  of  monarchs,  this  might 
have  been  a  little  out  of  taste,  or  absurd,  but  it 
was  excusable  in  him.  Returning  up  Lydius 
Street,  Albany,  that  evening,  in  its  shadows  we 
saw  the  Roman  Catholic  cathedral,  then  in  erec- 
tion. I  shall  never  forget  the  truly  Gallic  ex- 
pression he  used,  in  speaking  of  the  size  of  the 
building.  He  stopped,  looked  at  it,  seemed  im- 
pressed with  its  dimensions.  "  That  is  a  very 
large  church,"  said  he,  and  made  a  short  pause ; 
"  but  it  could  dance  in  some  of  ours  in  Paris." 

He  told  me  he  had  seen  twenty-eight  kings ;  and 
after  seeing  thus  about  all  there  is  on  earth  to  see, 
he  died,  best  remembered  as  having  been  the 
means  of  giving  wider  scope  to  the  governmental 
literature  of  the  nations  of  the  earth, —  a  healthy 
and  useful  and  honorable  fame. 


WHO    GOES    THERE f  283 

I  have  heard  that  strange  and  useless  visionary, 
Robert  Owen,  as  he  lectured  on  his  problems  of  a 
better  time  coming  for  all  men,  —  himself  forget- 
ting, that  in  the  wisdom  which  he  neglected  was 
the  only  guide  to  the  happiness  he  proposed.  There 
was  nothing  attractive  about  him  as  a  lecturer  ;  and 
but  for  his  reputation,  one  would  not  have  cared  to 
listen.  He  was  permitted  to  use  the  Assembly 
chamber  for  his  discourse,  and  he  lived  on  in  a 
hope  of  seeing  a  world  coming  to  his  theory. 

Why  did  he  go  thus  about  among  nations  that  he 
must  have  seen  rode  under  or  over  his  theories  every 
day  ?  Are  not  many  theoretical-talking  reformers, 
in  their  resultless  efforts,  only  dispelling  that  within 
them  which  Miss  Martin eau  calls  "  inborn  ennui.99 

Is  not  the  calm  life  of  quiet,  which  may  not  be 
heard  beyond  the  walls  of  its  earthly  home,  often 
of  greater  usefulness?  There  may  be  power,  re- 
sistless power,  in  that  which  Lady  Churchill's 
epitaph,  at  Lincoln,  characterizes  as  a  "  gentle 
wafting  to  immortal  life."  Truth  and  steadfast- 
nes's,  in  the  smallest  circle  of  friends,  has  a  value 
that  is  beyond  great-reaching  theories.  I  would 
rather  see  a  child's  look  toward  its  mother  than  to 
hear  lukewarm  philosophy  "  crying  to  the  moon 
and  stars  for  impossible  sympathy." 

There  were  some,  most  favored,  individuals  who 
brought  back  to  us  their  recollections  of  Walter 


284  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

Scott,  that  greatest  of  writers  since  the  Bard  of 
Avon  (which  latter  exception  is  made  as  black 
mail  to  the  world's  opinion,  and  not  because  I 
think  so).  I  heard  Mr.  Irving's  narrative  of  his 
unequalled  days  passed  in  the  magician's  own 
home-spell ;  and  Mr.  George  Ticknor's  testimony 
to  the  fidelity  of  the  original  portrait  of  Sir  Walter, 
which  is  over  his  hearth,  and  of  which  Mrs.  Lock- 
hart  said  to  Mr.  Ticknor,  that  she  could  not  for- 
give him  for  bearing  away  to  America  the  best 
portrait  of  her  father.  Mr.  Cobden  told  me,  that 
when  he  visited  Edinburgh,  he  made  it  his  very 
grateful  duty  to  find  the  great  author ;  and  in 
searching  for  him,  in  his  place  at  the  Court,  he 
discovered,  after  being  directed  to  the  sheriff,  a 
heavy  and  not  bright-looking  gentleman  at  the 
desk,  absorbed  in  clerical  duties,  and  apparently 
not  interested  in  what  the  Court  was  doing,  till  a 
sudden  illumination  of  his  face,  at  a  wise  or  witty 
thing  that  was  said  by  counsellor  or  judge,  re- 
vealed the  genius. 

But  a  queer  testimony  to  the  liberal  hospitality 
of  Abbotsford  was  related  to  me  by  a  man  whom  I 
found  in  one  of  our  western  villages,  and  who 
claimed  often  to  have  seen  Sir  Walter.  I,  at  first, 
doubted,  thinking  that  such  recollection  might  be 
the  great  card  of  all  Scotchmen,  and  that  it  was 
prudent  to  cross-examine  a  little  before  listening  to 


WHO    GOES    THERE?  285 

the  relation.  He  claimed  to  be  a  son  of  the  butcher 
at  Melrose,  and  the  suggestion  gave  a  very  prac- 
tical and  work-day  coloring  to  the  moon-lit  Abbey. 
"  Yes,"  said  he,  a  I  often  saw  him.  They  ate  a 
power  of  meat  at  Abbotsford,  —  often  a  whole 
sheep  and  sometimes  a  lamb." 

I  was  forced  to  believe  in  the  story  of  another 
Scotchman,  a  stone-mason,  who  claimed  to  have 
assisted  in  the  building  of  Abbotsford,  by  his  say- 
ing, that  "  it  was  a  house  of  a  great  many  Cor- 
ners," for  this  delineation  of  its  wayward  architec- 
ture was  too  faithful  to  be  doubted. 

These  are  all  meagre  incidents  of  any  compan- 
ionship with  those  who  knew  Scott,  by  look  or  con- 
versation, personally ;  but  even  these  I  cherished. 
It  was  a  positive  delight  to  look  at  that  portrait  in 
Mr.  Ticknor's  library,  for  it  reflected  the  very 
man  ;  and  1  thin£  the  curiosity  of  all  men,  that 
have  a  real  love  for  literature,  is  intense  yet  to 
know  all  about  him.  Lockhart's  biography,  ad- 
mirable indeed,  is  yet  a  cold-blooded  affair,  and 
does  not  frame  the  generous  and  glad  man  in  such 
coloring  as  his  kind  nature  gave  him  title  to. 

What  a  succession  of  triumphs  the  Waverleys ! 
What  books  ever  were  there  which  so  imbued 
the  mind  of  all  men !  The  acquaintance  with 
them  was  the  shibboleth  of  society,  and  he  who 
could  not  appreciate  or  accept  an  apt  quotation 


286  WHO     GOES    THERE* 

from  them,  as  they  came  to  the  delighted  pub- 
lic, was  declared  a  dull  fellow.  They  were 
intensely  sought ;  and  a  gentleman  who  was  an 
habitue  of  the  bookstore  of  John  Wiley,  who,  at 
New  York,  republished  them,  declared  to  me  that 
when,  by  the  cleverness  of  Mr.  Wiley,  he  was 
permitted  to  read  them  at  the  counter,  it  was  with 
difficulty  he  could  retain  a  volume  long  enough 
to  compass  the  story,  such  was  the  eagerness  of 
the  purchasers.  I  recollect  there  was  a  ludicrous 
spasm  of  fashion  about  the  pronunciation  of  the 
title,  Ivanhoe,  —  all  very  plain  to  us,  —  but  then 
public  opinion  divided  into  parties  of  accent  on 
the  first,  second,  or  third  syllable  ;  while  the  ex- 
treme in  fashion  declared  for  a  peculiar  twisting 
and  Gallicism  of  each  division  of  the  word,  so  that 
it  should  sound  something  like  E-vanwe.  That 
work  obliterated  the  work  of  Cervantes,  and  its 
ideas  are  yet  fibres  of  the  world's  language. 

Although,  as  I  now  read  the  two  series  of  books, 
I  cannot  see  how  any  one  could  doubt  that  he  who 
wrote  the  poems  wrote  the  romances ;  yet,  in  the 
day  of  the  "  Great  Unknown  "  fiction,  the  doubt 
was  a  very  serious  one, —  so  much  so,  that  when  a 
placard  of  advertisement  of  "  Scott's  New  Novel," 
was  in  some  bookseller's  window  in  State  Street, 
in  Albany,  it  was  thought  an  unauthorized  declara- 
tion. 


WHO    GOES    THERE  1  287 

One  of  the  best  evidences  of  the  power  Scott 
held  over  the  public  thought,  and  the  deep  feeling 
toward  him,  is  in  the  tablet  raised  to  his  memory 
in  the  wall  of  the  City  Hall  in  Albany, —  a  place 
as  devoid  of  all  romance  as  the  dustiest  of  the 
didactic  could  desire  ;  but  there  it  is,  and  it  does 
honor  to  the  citizens  of  Albany.  Where  else  in 
the  country  is  there  a  remembrance,  in  civic  edi- 
fice, of  an  author,  and  he  a  far-off  one,  and  one 
who  wrote  of  peers  and  princes,  of  rank  and  chiv- 
alry, of  themes  utterly  removed  from  our  every- 
day life  ?  But  the  spell  was  on  the  people.  Scott 
had  covered  the  mind  of  the  country  with  a  gold 
that  was  better  than  leaf  or  tinsel. 

There  was  a  public  meeting,  held  at  the  Man- 
sion House,  to  testify  the  public  grief  at  his  death. 
Harmanus  Bleecker  presided,  and  declared  his  ad- 
miration of  his  virtue  as  of  his  intellect ;  but  after- 
wards said  to  me  that,  if  he  had  known  then  that 
Sir  Walter  had  absolutely  denied  the  authorship 
o/  the  romances,  he  doubted  if  he  should  have  been 
authorized  to  speak  so  strongly  of  his  integrity. 
Mr.  Bleecker  was  a  high-thoughted  man,  who 
could  not  understand  any  compromise  with  the 
truth.  I  think  the  justice  of  the  case  was,  that 
Sir  Walter  had  no  right  to  deny,  as  he  did,  but 
nobody  had  any  right  to  ask  him  the  question. 


288  WHO    GOES    THERE? 

The  last  page  of  these  memories  comes,  —  not 
that  their  theme  is  exhausted,  but  that  it  may  not 
be  'wise  to  take  this  place  of  remembrance,  —  and 
it  is  well  to  test  it  carefully.  How  many  men  have 
I  known  die,  —  how  many  men  live  on,  in  avoid- 
ance or  neglect  of  the  duty  they  owe  their  fellow- 
men, —  who  possessed  and  retain  the  most  delightful 
recollections  of  the  great  men  and  great  events 
which  their  wandering  over  the  world,  or  their 
public  service,  have  made  them  to  know.  I  am 
sure  I  have  labored  with  some  of  them,  that  they 
should  do,  as  they  could  so  charmingly,  what  I, 
from  materials  gathered  in  a  limited .  circle,  have 
endeavored  to  do  in  this  volume.  Silas  Wright 
once  said,  if  he  ever  should  agaiy  begin  the  world, 
he  would  give  more  attention  to  writing  than  he 
had  done,  as  more  influential  than  speaking. 

Were  that  gift  of  life  renewed  to  me,  certainly 
one  use  of  the  treasure  that  I  would  make,  would 
be  to  make  record  of  what  I  saw  and  heard ;  and 
thus  really  see  and  hear  that  wonderful  drama  — * 
which  is  always  acting  before  us  —  our  own  life 
I  should  better  learn  that,  with  all  the  shadows  of 
its  errors,  even  a  common  life  is  a  theme  worthy 
of  an  angel's  study. 


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